An Séipéal Glas

I am lost in forest—

Yew and oak deliver me from the world.

Shades of green, grey, brown,

Smells of earth and rain,

Friendly discourse of the ravens,

Spy red deer grazing behind rhododendrons,

Fish flash through brooks, pools, lakes,

The song of water presses close—

Heaven’s tears wash clean my soul.


I am no longer dead and dreaming.


Foliage yields to ancient stones,

Grey stones, flecked with moss:

A roofless abbey under greying skies.

Courtyard rings a solitary yew

Stretching up beyond the limits of man.

Flowers blaze amidst gravestones—

Monuments to poets and patriots,

Names lost to the endless crusade

For Kingdom and for Cross.


I am an architect of dreamers and kings.


All this and heaven too—

Verdant bastion of repose

Sates this wanderer’s hungry heart,

Stokes the fires of imagination.

An unshakeable feeling in the blood:

This is home.


I am a son of the Kingdom of Kerry.