The Bard of Gort

Springing free from glistening Fronds The summers heat leaps for Height; Whilst drifting obscurely far Above A distant lark now hangs in Flight. Floats down his sweet trill, Accompanied by joyous and Uplifting revelry, Over the black crows nasal Calls; Whose draped shadow, contemplating devilry, Flaps and furtively falls Into ripening bean fields Planted in neatly sowed rows: Nourished in darkest till, Enriched by pedantic verse of Gaelic odes. Do now these gentle Slopes Pause to yield Where secretive song, Bursting forth, is much concealed inside the plain of Aidhne; For here the great rock of the Burren, Whereby so implored upon, Revealed its grey stones... To rebuild ancient and deserted Thoor Ballylee. Sweeping briskly past a tors Grassy island busy in bloom, Eagerly cramming under four Crouched arches, Skim the borrowed waters of Thee immortal Cloone; Dappling currents Dawdling around squat stanchions - Staunchly carrying the quiet bridge Over the old concourse: Momentarily loitering - Wantonly begging to coyly swoon... Now, joyfully sporting in gushing Discourse, Gleefully courting elusive and Glimmering enchantments: Mirrored reflections enticed to Enter - To be forever trapped within a Burbling rivers sacred rhyme and Tune. Higher and higher the spiraling Stairs of de Burgo When through airy woodland Glades The towering shadow sought; And higher and higher the spirit Of an ageing poet... His crowding thoughts Roaming freely amidst these Fabled legends of Gort. Harken then to the feathered Herald - Tis Gods design that calls on Ye! For few men know of what he Sings... He sings of the forgotten paths Forever lost within Innisfree.