Dole Day Blues

Whispers of Lough Swilly###################### — after A. M. Donaghey ############################################### A hush lies low where the herons wheel, Over Swilly's skin of polished steel— A lough that holds both sea and sigh, Where shadows drift and gulls go by. ################################################ Old turf smoke curls from hillside stone, Where sheep still graze and dreams are sown, And down the lanes, the foxglove leans To eavesdrop on the in-between. ################################################# The tide breathes slow on Buncrana's shore, Its secrets older than the war— When ships lay moored in quiet dread, And oaths were sworn and prayers were said. ################################################## Now silence tells what books forget, The salt of joy, the balm of regret. Each inlet, curve and fern-fringed quay Still murmurs songs the wind won’t free. ################################################### And oh, the dusk—when westward eyes See Inishowen in fading dyes— The purple hills, the golden air, And every stone a psalm, a prayer. ################################################### So let me lie where Swilly sings, Beyond the grief of smaller things. Let heather bloom above my rest, My heart turned seaward, home, and blessed.