An Te Mu Dheireadh De Threubh a Chaidh a Bith
Sat all alone beside that muttering shoreline he busied
Himself, diligently, and sewed.
And whilst sewing, sang, in a redundant tongue,
Tales of an unforgiving sea...for in him resided the only
Remaining refuge of the old fathers songs;
But then he had been sired from the loins of a rarer kind...
The last native of a vanished tribe.
Bowed, pale blue mountains in mourning behind,
The forlorn mists slowly gathering below;
Unintelligible utterances from weeping seabirds, those
Shrill, demented cries
Resonating across the marooned, windless bay; plunging
Down, the abrupt outline of towering cliffsides;
And in his voice a great sorrow...that which only the
Truly forsaken could ever possibly know.
Now just abandoned longboats lying beached above the
High-water mark; white sands
And white pebbles still washed by lulling tides;
Sometimes, from out of this little cove, a troubling breeze;
And carrying on this breeze, faint sounds of muted,
Despairing sighs.
For it is the longboats that sigh. They sigh for the
Passing of well schooled and patient hands.
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