| Brendan O'Neill |
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| Burren I have harvested enchantment in fields of stone Under the shrill protest of still wild birds Gathered shadows of dead heroes into creels of bone I have heard the laments of childless women crowd through dead forests Traced the scrawl where bony finger's picked out each patchwork rut and row A bright mist shrouds their faces. Gentle the trickle of their tears Remembering each flawed caress nurturing cut flowers Urging dormant seeds to grow from ancient fissures |
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