Poetry

If I Could Choose

As I stood and pondered silently how futile it all has been

The homework neglected, life's vissitudes took over.

The points to access the Pearly Gates well beyond my reach

Should I fail the final test. I would seek a last request.

 

I would choose the path to Cuilcaghs mountains peaks

And gaze upon the embryonic Shannon en route to Limerick

of the Treaty's

The Erne Valley in Fermanagh's green heartland

Leitrim's stony hills sloping to Lough Allen's banks.

 

 

I would follow the old road through the woods now smothered

By heath and brine

I would watch the purple heather turn to grey

and in mid summer see again its purple plumage

The wild furze in brillant hue.

The lambs gambolling on the hillocks

The badger, fox and raven hunting for their share.

  

At eventide I would hear the song of the Curlew,

The Peewits gentle cry, the moorhens mating call.

I would traverse the Shannon's banks at dusk and watch the

brown trout make ripples

As they sought food in pools unchanged by time and going

on forever.

I would hear the otter whistle for his mate as the water hen

kept her distance.

 

I would visit the spirit the old thatched cottages

Where once the hearth burned brightly.

Jigs and reels were danced, barrels of liquor demolished.

As the grey dawn approached with misty solitude on the hills.

 

I would rejoin the once young card players who shuffled the pack.

Whilse the Ace of hearts rested uneasily on shaky knees.

I would visit the lone bush by the river where I dreamed my

life away.

I would walk again the country lanes where pledges were made

And sometimes broken in the soft moonlight.

This is my land, it's there I would be.

 

Pat McGovern (C) 2008