Honey From Her Mouth Poem by Liam ó Comáin

(In memory of my mother’s aunt Rosie)

To be a poet in the ancient
Language flowing from the lips
Of my mother’s aunt…then
As mysterious as a rath
But as she prayed the rosary
It was pure gold from her tongue.
Years around her lap enthralled
With stories from her lips,
Occasionally uttering a phrase,
But in spite of all the wonder
At the honey from her mouth
In my youth I lost a treasure…
For the language of a nation
Is worth more than any purse.