A cloud grazing
upon a hillside.
A sheep genuflecting
before a tuft of grass.
The Curragh spreads itself
before me
like a legendary
saint's cloak.
The cloud now visiting
the old English graveyard
stopping every now & then
to read a lichen eaten inscription.
The long dead bask
in the morning sunshine.
The sheep has found another
tuft of grass as nice
if not nicer than
the last one.
The cloud has left me
alone with my thoughts.
'We remember you... '
the Dead whisper.
'We sheltered you
In a broken tomb...'
'So you did...' I tell them '...so you did! '
'When the rains came...
...you used to come
& read to us
when studying for your Leaving.'
'I liked to talk to the skies! ' I said.
'You never got to finish
North and South...'
'Another time...' I said.
The furze burning yellow.
'Your sadness is...hurting us! '
the Dead whisper.
I leaving them gazing
at an infinity.
Their eyes upon the ever
changing skies.
'Baa! ' a sheep comments.
'Baa! ' it says again in case
I didn't hear it the first time.
I almost expected it
to say: 'Humbug! '
'Baa...yourself! '
I tell it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem