A Poem for Glendalough

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Glendalough Suite


Derrybawn

Hill of the white oak grove, beloved of Nelson’s fleet.

Victory left the valley folk burning faggots.

Lugduff & Poulaneass

Black Hole Mountain Brook, father of the two lakes.

Powerful force, a torrent in streams clothing.

Speaks to us in splashes now of the ice that spawned it.

Spink

Treacherous Pointed rock. Master view of lakes and valley,

luring unwary travelers to a sloping edge too far

Tonlegee

Ton Le Gaoithe, Back To the Wind. Always the wind,

from every direction. Stick your head up proud high

over Wicklow.  Many an Ice Age since you were warm.

manys the bitter blast a Phog Do Thon.

Camaderry

The Pass of the Oak Wood, nobly named in ages past before

the rape of ships and mineshafts

Brockagh

Once a village, proud, hardwon, hardmade.That was then.

Now even Broc himself finds life hard on this bare and

barren rock

 

Glendalough,

magic mystic valley cradled in its mountain arms

Martin Swords

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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