Inis cealtra and Mountshannon
On the road that runs behind the harbour at Mountshannon,
Apples hang bountiful from high garden walls.
There were figs and vines too
As we walked through the maze.
All these towns along the Shannon remind me of my child years in Tramore,
Gardens lush with Fuchsia, hydrangea, climbing roses,
The old Refectory, church steeple, grey stone, mossy walls,
Walks across fields of soft sodden years
The earthy scent of September.
I almost expect my grandmother to be sitting outside a house
Knitting in hand
Passing the time of day.
A cormorant poised on a river marker,
As we say goodbye to Mountshannon harbour
And I think of the saints who came to these shores
To Holy Island so long ago.
The round tower high above the Ash and Sycamore,
The ruins of a monastic site,
A place of peace on these lakeside shores
Then and still today.