In Kerry, but doesn't quite belong,
Founded on a bigger premise,
A melody, for every migrant's song,
Energy that never dies,
Gently forging new ties,
Between body and soul,
Now, In tandem together,
The heaviest load that you will lift,
A single white feather.
It's always been here,
As old as the wind and the valleys,
Through which it blows,
The special spirit,
Of genteel anarchy,
A melting pot of to and fro.
Worshipping in this Gaelic Mecca,
With gifts that God has given free.
Quietude in which to listen,
Closing your eyes,
To see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
County Kerry is a place I have always loved and your poem speaks of it's character 'of genteel anarchy.' A special place where dreamers and schemers mingle with acceptance of their own importance in a county that is spellbinding with beauty and a serenity of sense of place! A stunning poem!