On The Cliffs Of Moher Poem by Benny The Busker

Have you been to the Cliffs of Moher,
In the west of the Banner County?
To the scene of O’Brien’s Tower,
Where the best songs are sung by the sea.

As you walk on the Cliffs of Moher,
Breathing in pure ocean air,
Rolling waves pound rhythms below her,
As music drifts round everywhere.

All kinds of buskers are by the trails,
Grateful visitors tip as they play;
Songsters and masters of modal scales,
Fateful souls of the Celtic ray.

Like the lady squeezing her concertina,
While her little dog lies patiently,
Or the minstrel with pleasing acoustic guitar
And repertoire of prize poetry.

As you climb on the Cliffs of Moher,
Above shores where power is distilled,
The clock hands seem to stop ticking over
To pause as each hour is filled.

Standing high on the Cliffs of Moher,
You can lose track of trouble and care;
While you sigh, watching brave birds hover,
Reflecting on life as you stare.

The fiddler’s favourites are fast jigs and reels,
The piper prefers a slow air,
The accordion player trades polkas for meals,
The troubadour shares love of Clare.

The tin-whistler’s tunes waft and weave,
The old banjo boy picks away;
The harper laments – you don’t want to leave,
You could stay to listen all day.

As you rest on the Cliffs of Moher,
Your finest thoughts can fly free,
At the scene of O’Brien’s Tower,
Where the best songs are sung by the sea.

Yes, the best songs are sung by the sea,
Where the sun sets into the sea...
On the Cliffs, on the Cliffs of Moher, Mmm mmm …
On the Cliffs, on the Cliffs of Moher, Mmm mmm …
On the Cliffs, on the Cliffs of Moher.


(Song Copyright Benny The Busker © 2006)