Tuesday, March 17, 2015

A Poem for St. Patrick's Day

Irish Sunrise

The gold light of a rising sun
shimmers on the high green hill
where three aged yew trees grow,
above a long-forgotten grave.

Shimmers on the high green hill,
just glimpses of the ancient Sidhe
that haunt the lush emerald clover.

Where three aged yew trees grow,
branches spreading toward the light,
roots extending deep within the soil.

Above a long-forgotten grave,
a rainbow kisses the sapphire sky
and the lonely north wind wails.

© All Rights Reserved A. F. Stewart

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