Is duilleoga tirime mo chuid smaointe

(Translation below)

Is duileoga tirime mo chuid smaointe

Nuair a dhéanaim iarracht iad a chruinniú, séideann gaoth an tsaoil.

Is duilleoga tirime mo chuid smaointe.

Scaipeann gálaí mhothúcáin i ngach treo iad.

Is duilleoga tirime mo chuid smaointe.

Ní thógtar ach puth anála … mo chuid smaointe … cá rabhas?

Is duilleoga tirime mo chuid smaointe.

Aon lasán cúramach amháin agus bheadh ar scoite lasrach iad.

Is duilleoga tirime mo chuid smaointe.

Beidh smacht ‘is saothar mar ráca ‘is barra rotha agam,

scuabfad an chruach  go míchuimseach,

an dá láimh sínte amach agam mar leanbh,

i gcuilithe coinfitithe, tranglaim órga glórmhar.

Is duilleoga tirime mo chuid smaointe.

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My thoughts are dry leaves, when I try to gather them, the wind of life blows

My thoughts are dry leaves, the gales of emotion scatter them in all directions

My thoughts are dry leaves, it would only take a small puff – my thoughts – where was I?

My thoughts are dry leaves, a single careful match and they’d all be blazing fiercely

My thoughts are dry leaves, imagination and art will be my rake and my barrow

I will sweep extravagantly the pile

childlike, with both arms outstretched 

in a confettied swirl of glorious confusion

My thoughts are dry leaves

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