Road Of Ancient Tara's Ruin
Road of Ancient Tara's Ruin
Two dogs bark
A man nods and
the pilgrims shield
the flames on the hill
known as Tara.
For if Ireland has a heart- it beats in Tara.
Tara. Mating bed of sun and soil where
fire was born and water bled from
stone. Where winds blew seed
that fed the men of Eire.
Tara - Seat of Kings - not born - but fought
and Druid sworn. Where poet, priest and
pauper stood – arm in arm to hold the line
a thousand years. Nay! five thousand years
this lore of Eire.
This rising hill - where men
in battle roared...