Old gods

Brambles crawl ragged and riotous
around the base of the hill.
Stone stands moss-covered
grass to its knees
amid bullocks snuffling.
Higher still, clouds hang
pulled by the strings of the stars
and soft rain falls
puddling hoof prints
by the water trough.
Lark sings in the high air
and the stone stands.

And the stone stands
with its roots in the earth,
the earth that spills and spreads
and rolls beneath the grass
until it joins the sea.
The tides roll and waves roar
and sea caves echo with the lark’s song.
For all things join
From the stars in the sky
to the pebbles that grind and roll
in the depths of the deep sea caves.
And they join with the stone
that stands on the hill
where bullocks graze and the lark sings.

I look over the land from the stone on the hill
and I hear the lark sing
in the far sea caves.
My feet sink deep, down in the earth
that forever was mine and will always be,
full of the voices and breath of my past.
My heart listens to the soul of all things
singing the lark’s song
to the rolling deeps.

Ballinagree