Giant's Causeway Poem by Mark Heathcote

Each basalt column stands erect
Like some pedestal from where whence
A broken-hearted mermaid wept;
Many a sweetheart beauteous
Touched the Giant's Harp left these shores
It's the lore of the sea that calls
It's the wave's guttural guitars
Leads them astray …with bare ship halls.

It's their legacy, their footprints
That disappears under the sea,
Melting lava honeycombs,
Their destiny does oversee.
These myths in the mist always are
A kind of mystery aren't they,
The kind that is hard to obtain,
Listen and you might hear Áine

The Faery Goddess riding,
Riding her red-foal as the sunsets
In summer attire, eyes red-
Rubies in their beds of glowing fire;
Mermaids lie on the Giant's Causeway
Counting lives like Premier Poker Chips
Men have gambled, drown in chardonnay
For a taste of some goddesses, red lips.