Treasure Island

Liam ó Comáin


Akin to scent
Is the air I breathe,
Our feathered friends
Follow the plough,
And into the womb
Of mother earth
Is set the seed which is
The bread of man,
Prefect of nature's realm.

In these my winter years
I let the windows
Of my soul gaze upon
The herald of summer:
Sweet spring,
Creative spring -
Spring the season of youth!

Submitted: Thursday, December 11, 2008
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