A Portrait of an Irish Summer

I spent my childhood in southern Ireland and this was a typical summer A Portrait of an Irish Summer The hours staved, Wilde’s Dorian from the ashes reborn, Youth’s innocence kept, left lingering, as spring falls Victim to a hapless sun, and that memorable summer dressed, As November rain, relentless, lashed wave after wave, Seeping through the rusted wrought iron frame. A portrait of Rejection, of sadness looking out, Our tears disguised, outside our reflection weeping in; For what young sins had we? Ungodly mid-summer rain, shackled, a prisoner of the skies, Of some unknown artist paints our lives, two shades of grey, The scent of winter upon us, rain beaten, rot black, Fields of helplessness, as the sky closes its weary eyes. A depression of darkness reigns down, Cowering below the wet soaked sill, a manly comfort blanket, Overhead God’s thundering trill, Grandma Pleading our sins to be absolved, whilst innocence prayed A finer day, counting marbles on the floor. Silenced the mocking birds, caged within four walls. A Portrait of Summer.