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CIL MAOLCHEADAIR (Kilmalkedar) On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn, she wandered through the graveyard, looking for the Celtic dream from which her past was born, and every sight brought her to wanting more; she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone as if she understood each chip as real, passed down to only her, and her alone, from pagan worship she could almost feel; and she could bundle them within her mind to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin, perhaps the magic, if still there to find, would be an understanding where they've been; and she will burn her candles every night, hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right. © ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

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