In Ireland’s Bogs
a poem
In the sedge bogs Under the weeds The old man lifts a knee To find a treasure Underneath, left here One thousand years since
His Celtic mammy Told him so in stories Of descendants young and old Planting here church things From monasteries ransacked By English kings who never had
No bloody business here Left nobler men than them and Women too searching in the dust While wearing crowns and sceptres That never did denote much A short history of Ireland for you
© Simon Heathcote