There is no other place

I would rather be in Naas

Than on this seat by the Abbey Bridge in spring

Waiting for the Thrush to breathe the air and sing.

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I listen to a Blackbird

in our May evening garden

among the Apple Blossom

reciting his mantra

it is a lullaby of sweetness

singing to his neighbours

as they listened

answering down to the fields

it is a tune heard by all

Who stop and  listen

To his call

HOW MY POEMS ARE MADE

I fill my poems

With the rythem of the river

The music of the Eternal Giver

I can stand long and long

Watching a thrush coax a blackbird

Into song

DO NOT GIVE THEM POWER

NOT IN ANY HOUR

NOT ANY WHERE

NOT THROUGH ANY GATE

BUT BY THEN

IT COULD BE TOO LATE.