An Ireland Poem

In the north, there is a place, winding in a castle of hills, where the conversations of two friends become part of the river.

The voice of the rushing wind, blended within the trees of old, tells stories of a faithful peace that stretches across the land, reaching oceans of history.

With every morning breath, there is a still, quiet thought, welcoming, reminding you this is where you ought to be. You're part of the land, you're part of us here, breathe in my warmth, and take a step with me. Walk down the road, around the bend where there are fellow men, happy with music all around.

The lush and green country is the place where spirits sing, where laughter starts with a distant melody of ones own pilgrimage.

The rocky cliffs down to where the ocean forms are a place where no man has forgotten, where they may have seen a creature that told stories long ago.

Around another bend is where I found favor with a long-lost friend I had been seeking since I was ten. This must have been where the Lord took rest on the seventh day.

It is true what they say, you cant stand in one place for five minutes and not see the scenery change to something completely offset from the moment before. This is where inspired writers had walked, where in so many words, freedom was heard.

So still, yet so happy, are these favorite places of mine. If I could, I would bring them home with a song full of meditation and wealth that the world has yet to see.