DAY ON KNOCKNAREA

(Written on top of Knocknarea hill in Ireland – January 2000)

Oh Sacred hill where silence holds the day
And green, green as far as eyes may try to see
Offer they might dare to look beyond your ancient clay
To all that is and all that ever soon will be
Sacred hill, Heaven opens an approving gaze upon your stairs
I cannot move – your back has stifled me
And breathe, breathe, breathe do I through listless cares
To take a final part of you to sea
And leave a single tear upon you now
To water richly all that you have blessed
I will return to you, Oh Sacred hill
To place a foot before your windy crest
Stay now, sleep, for I must go
To trodden deep within the city streets
And dapple in the mundane, heavy blows
Which try to hinder dreaming, beckoned feats
But the aesthetic night will soon grow long
And I will tire of peoples’ fancy stares
Such is a hope that I do not belong
Among the city with their gameful glares
And day will come and quickly will I flee
The smokey night that held me in my youth
And old, far too old will I then be
When in return to you, Oh Sacred hill
Oh quiet, mystic truth
Of all that is and has been put to rest
Of death, of life before your windy crest
Oh Sacred hill, this be my final quest

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