As soon as their master crossed the yard, it was clear
his voice sounded like flowers,
Lovable, lazy carrying greenswards towards
Beatsy, her daughters Ruby and Judy
Well those three ladies! they're fine
and walk on the road in the evening time
They stop and nibble peacefully
all the tasty otherwise out of reach treats
Fuchsias scent abounds
Rustles The Airgeadeen silvery along:
A vast quilt stretches on West
towards the sea, near Bantry.
In this moment time stood still
with thoughts of Beatsy Ruby and the foal dear Judy
Áine, I just love the way you have introduced Abhaile. And indeed “There is no place like home” Reading this makes me feel like I'm standing on Cnoc Gréine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is, for me, a favourite amongst your work.