Across the field of corn, John stands on old mossy stones, he gazes across the horizon his eyes drinks the beauty of the trees and the sunshine beaming across the Lullymore sky.
He visits the bog and cuts through the turf and carefully lifts out the peat as he does, he sings a song of his childhood that he learned at his mother's knee. He recalls his father advice on how to use the spade to dig deep into the clay and slice it out, this is his roots that bind him to the soil and the memories of the past.
Michael Cochrane © 2024
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem