Celtic Fire

The smoke its blue what little rises, embers red; midst black ash silent the hounds lie down the talk is slow, a song is requested the answers no.! That's not the end, more voices exclaim.' cajoling then condemning, and praise." So feet do stir the voice is raised, against deep silence strong tones pervade The notes are lilting with strength and range, Memories are fired As thoughts are changed, Tears do form, unseen in eyes, above the linn 'neath darkening skies..! copyright Joe Maverick 2014 The word linn describes a pond or pool in Irish gaelic..'