'Children Of Lír' Poem by Marty McKenna

i have everything i need to make a poem,
swans, snow and the whisper of colour
lake is to my eyesight; but i can't.
i love how you said original thoughts

to me about the last one, i love how
your interpretation makes it yours; but
i can't. i want to say to you, i'm sorry
i missed you, i want you to go along

with the skeleton trees of winter
and love fully; but i can't. in the silent
fall of flakes of this morning's vital
life, i want to write you a metaphor
of such staggering sorrow; but i can't.

necks bowed and floating slow in falling
snow, these mythical give sad life to lake.

first published by 'perverted by language'
appears in the collection '27 poems'