Ciorcail

     Circles

The sweet scent of turf smoke
and the ancient song of the seals
are spiralling though the air.
A choir of stars are singing
and an occasional, wandering cloud
dancing slowly, slowly across the sky.

Reminding me
time is slipping away
without answers to all my questions.
They run round my mind
and churn up my brain:
I don’t see any clear way.

I’d like my thoughts
to be exact and certain
– I don’t think that’s too great a wish,
and a new start
without the pressure of the cloud of troubles
– in hopelessness I make this plea.

Always and ever
the night’s music comes
as a balsam to my sick, sore soul,
I dive into the sound
and solace comes upon me
that is peaceful, bright and sweet.

 

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