Tuesday Poem: Lure

Lure

Come to Carrowholly

and I'll make you bread in the morning

as the tide leaves its remnants

of Irish moss in the cove.

Where lambs mewl in Pat's field

and Croagh Patrick emerges from the mist

then is gone for hours,

lost in the Atlantic altostratus.

Where the song thrush speckles the gorse

and a single grey heron attends to meditation.

Come to Carrowholly

and we'll feast on nettle cheese and crackers,

green olives in a peppered brine.

And I'll simmer a Guinness stew

for Sunday supper, fragrant with potatoes

in their jackets, parsnips and parsley.

And the sun will linger beyond Clare Island

well past apple pie, beyond Clew Bay,

unwilling to give up its blessing, this day

which by all rights should never end.

--for Mary

copyright 2008 T. Clear

----

I wrote this two years ago for my sister, who's not yet

visited here. We're planning a trip to Ireland -- with assorted

other sisters -- next May.

The Guinness Stew recipe is here.

My particular spin on apple pie can be found here.

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