Sweet Erin
Sweet Erin, how I ache to walk
Along your shores again.
To smell the peat and meadows sweet
To ease my inner pain.
I smell the new mown hay
In minds that pass me by so close.
I bow my head in anguish,
For I needs must turn you loose.
I ache with inner torment
For the crystal waters clear.
The pull of your sweet shores
The purple mountains drawing near.
The Liffy running Dublin town,
The bustle, banter, colour,
Then moving outward to the sound
Of silence like no other.
poem by Rosi Caswell
Added by Poetry Lover
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