For barely a fortnight
He has the world more open
with chrome yellow flowers
Flowing over lush green strap like foliage.
Some Thoroughbred pedigree progeny,
and female family reports
with a drunk ass green guy!
As I stood looking
at the strange incisions,
carved in the twilight of the Irish dawn
on these rough monoliths,
as messages to posterity
merge from the end of
An electric dawn…
Even if the rising itself was doomed over Ireland,
Oh, sure if the earth were piled this hour
o’er our senseless forms of clay
Somehow we would thrill to the pulse of her,
our Irish Dawn o’ the day.
-Nicole in Massachusetts, search phrase “Irish dawn”