Before it was Rosscarbery
In the land that knew Druids, and their mistletoe holy
amid crashing waves, on a black bouldered shore it be
Where green carpet led to the barrow on the high hill
where the old King sleeps in his peace, unbothered still
Where Fen and Tor sculpt the land, stark or soft
where the hawk glides so, on winds high aloft
As the sun kissed hills delight the eye and the soul
the mystic mists of yore do but heal one whole
The silence of dawn on a County Cork hill is so
breath of the angels, nothing less you should know
Timeless and precious, better then gold or jewel
yet oft overlooked by those in a hurry, or just fools
The faint sound of music from a small little fair
the laughter’s delight would carry you there
Amid joy and peace and smiles oh so winsomely bold
where age falls away, and you’re not quite so old
(Rosscarbery, County Cork, Ireland)