Land Of The Leachtáns Poem by Matt Mooney

The slow call of a crow outside
Seems to echo back to childhood-
To a sloping sunburnt hill
In the land of limestone leachtáns
And grey stone walls I’ll always love;
Where we saved the hay together,
Often watching out for rain
And hurrying if we felt a dropp or two-
Resting only when my mother came
With tea and rhubarb tart at four o’clock.


My father smoked his pipe contentedly,
Blessed himself and spat on his palms;
Resuming play we both made hay
And trimmed and tied each work of art.

With the brown pony we all called Dan,
My brother Mike, sunburned and strong,
Gathering in the hay with a tumble rake.


A curlew calls mysteriously-
Drawing back the veil of night,
Reminding me of Bailemhóinín
And the Carheen river quietly flowing
From Lios an Fhíona,
Draining the low black bogland,
Scenting sweet with furze and heather.

(Leachtáns (Gaelic) -a mound of stones from the tillage fields over time.
Lios an Fhíona- a placename in Gaelic: the fort of the wine.
Baile - Mhóinín; (Gaelic) -the townland of the turf.) (All in South Galway)