A Celtic Dream

CELTIC DREAM This land, as old as emerald's green so delicate, a jewel serene was hers and mine, a world at rest from life that played out not at best, seclusion from, "What do you mean?" All things were understood in trust, in love we lived, as if we must forget about our times alone, retreiving not the sword from stone, and there we let it stay to rust. No shining knights were there to see nor axes carving destiny, no blood would flow onto this land except that God would have it planned, from Dunloe Gap out to the sea. All was too well, my love for her, and she for me, be as it were, and life, our greatest omnibus, turned out to be the love of us, and so in love is how we were. © Ron wilson arbuthnot akaVee Bdosa the Doylestown poet