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 from. Oh, Mother of Life, Mother of everything sweet and beautiful, I am your son, please have me…See More
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