Exile Song

Day 15 of my review of the year and a poem which is as much the moments in life which have passed as it is about exile

Made of sticks and stones

photo credit: music in the veins via photopin (license) photo credit: music in the veins via photopin(license)

On Irish lips
I heard a song,
A lament
Full of longing

For emerald fields
And a red-haired girl
On Erin’s shore,
Still waiting.

An Irish voice raised
In a back street
New York bar.
He sings of her

While outside
The rain is falling
On his exile
Dreams of home.

 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

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