Mist embroiders Mount Errigal’s crown,
In the winter of the year;
The wind, rain and sleet sweeping down,
Enough to force forth a tear.
Withal one still sees endeavours of old,
In the vale of brown grasses below;
A donkey explores an ancient sheep fold,
Beside where white waters flow.
High ruin of a Church silhouetted alone,
Aloof o’er the ‘Poisoned Glen’;
Where in the past some went to atone,
Refuge of mere mortal men.
‘Neath the canopy grey of a menacing sky,
Lost images haunt this place;
A granite headstone on its back doth lie,
Rather than upright in grace.
Clouds separate, then a brilliance of light!
Streaks across river and land;
Reminding that we’re all in God’s sight,
Wherever we happen to stand.
The haze on the mountain rises away,
All of its host to reveal;
Whilst waters reflect the sun of the day,
Till clouds close again and conceal.
Monty Alexander 7.2.04