The green isle sang a melody
as on clouds I floated free
and brought to me a memory
ancient yet not me
verdant dreams of tribal home
and he that I would be
the warrior, the troubadour
a prince of devout grace
with a beggarman’s philosophy
a drunken priest’s lost faith
and as I passed above all time
I gained all sense of place
my purpose then now plain to me
from on these heaven’s highs
all truth and beauty’s delicate
lights dance before my eyes
and without fear I face the west
as to my rest I fly.
This is lovely! Your poetry has become more and more mezmorizing. Your words flow beautifully! Nicely done!
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You’re very kind, thank you
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Oh you’re so welcome Blight’! š
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