Spirits lurking beneath purple heather
Calling me home to the fog and the dew
Grand Emerald Isle Green Pastures A’Plenty
Hills, fields and valleys to rest and renew
Mystical lilting voices of banshees, ancient king’s queens and fairies
And leprechauns too
The dirges the poems the beauty the silence
The song of the spirits in the fog and the dew
My people my wisdom my tribe and my laughter
My joy on the journey evolved from its brew
Betwixt and between beside and below me
The prayer of Patrick hails the divine through and through
My body and soul however fraught and overburdened
My heart frozen stone -- melts in the fog and the dew
Soothed by its drums, by its harps, strings and whistles,
By its pipes and its voices reaching heaven anew
Its reels jigs and feis’s its poets its scribes
Its music all embracing breaking evil spell too
Grand Emerald Isle the home of my people
I dream of my forefathers aplenty its true
Ancient mother tongue I hear in the whispering heather,
Forever calling me home to the fog and the dew.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment