)

 

 

Working late on a Sunday drear
The sky is flat like German beer
Charlie lies near.
Iron-grey sky, black Russian in patches,
Blown away by the striking matches  
Of Dostoyevsky's inspiration. 

Desperate remedies appear in the mirror,
Look in the pool. The heart draws near
What do I see? A foolish old man looking
At me. What do I hear?
The clip and the clop of horses 
Times long gone and passed.

Time lost in the scramble for money,
The chimera that won't disappear,
Double-entendres a-plenty
Greed and fear often reappear
As the gombeen man draws near.

The magic of the greensward
The patterning of the stars,
The vestiges of druid-law
The words that travel far. 

Times of mourning
Times of dread -
Risen from the sea
And stuck in my head.

Glimmers of mortality. 
The dimming of the day
Lives lead a-stray.
Words fail
Light fades
Coals glow
On this blustery winter's night
Long ago.