Share 'Going Home to Mother: A poem on Ireland'

The hills seemingly run their length of the Earth, and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I begin to run, I run so hard I start to feel it burning my thighs. But for all things, I wouldn't stop. I didn't want to, though it hurt. The grass on my feet, the freedom of the wind that carried the smells of life and magic on its sweet breath. I feel myself at one with what I always thought I was apart…