I took a walk up in the Irish hills
The clouds scraping their bellies on the ridge
Light rain of tears for a goddess long killed
Some red-haired beauty leaping from a ledge
(The old soaps are the best.) Here there’s no bridge
Nor need for one. Houses and cars are few
No streets out here - this is close to the edge
This is Sheep’s Head; that’s Mizen Head in view
A million droplets separate the two
The silver sound receives the haze and swells
Welcomes its brethren home without a grudge
So rain meets sea, while up here I try to
Locate the track. Please, trainers, don’t get filled
With muddy water on my return trudge!
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