Sinn

We are the anthems trumpets
long-maned waves and roaring seas
we are the heavy columns of clouds
and eager sharp granite fangs

we are the yellow sands
that marble moon grey dust
a stone’s shadow as hard as tears
of river streams and famine time

we boundless days empty nights
blood on the threshold iris of guns
hangman's ropes and trenches –
of gaping hollow graves

We are the life itself – heathers
of dreams woven by mist
enchanted in pearls of rain
that sleep on top of Carrantuohill

We are among the songs and poems
beneath the dreams and fairytales
we are struggling blizzards and showers
under the wing of the black prophetess

We are the notes of songs
music was born from us 
we are the rays of the beginning
and shadows of the past 
the memory of ancient times
so distant but close to every heart