Ballinful

Turf springs back beneath the foot as one strolls above the sea,

Scanty snowflakes grasp green grass blades as moisture seeks the lee;

Frosty murals mask the mountains from Grange to Donegal,

Fresh breezes bluster from Sligo Bay midst a sudden squall.

Breakers beat with drum like cadence against the rocky shore,

The sea’s low voice drones beyond the wintry winds;

Salty spray leaps from the wave crests marching by the score,

Savory snowdrops dash the palate as cherbish tongue propends.

White capped mountains, loom ghostly, haunting the northern distance,

Beyond the Isle of Innishmurray, where naughty faeries dance;

Sunbeams gleam across ocean surf and cast a forlorn glance,

Shared by ancients through the ages forecast this present trance.

GG

Gerry Gilligan, c.2009, copyright, all rights reserved