Eagles of Eragail, poem.
I was part of the writers retreat group that you took to Mt. Eragail, organised by Sean and Columbia Hillen. As an assignment we had to write a creative piece about our experience while walking and listening to Seamus. I thought you might like to see Eragail through an Aussie’s eyes based on your stories and what I felt.
We Eagles of Eragail Mark the passage of time,
Watch lives of men Like waves on the tide,
Soaring above you With wind in our wings,
Amazed at the nature of Men and their kings.
Rituals performed. Ancient wisdom is law,
Man struggles for peace Like never before.
Lugh of the Sun And Balor of Sea,
Fight to the death For the sovereignty.
Wind in the sedge grass. Milk thistle in bog,
Rain on the rock face That’s hidden by fog.
Castles arise Behind stone walls,
Men live and reign Ignoring our calls,
Clan against clan Invading the lands,
Chief succeeds chief. We don’t understand,
Wars are the rule. Generations are lost,
Men live and die, an Unfathomable cost.
Wind in the sedge grass Milk thistle in bog,
Rain on the rock face That’s hidden by fog.
Famine prevails Starvation abounds,
Yet greed over-rules. Man’s cruelty astounds.
Sheep are more valued than people themselves,
Guarded like gold In the houses and sheds.
Young women are sold. Brides for rough men,
Billberry bracelets Have no place with them.
Wind in the sedge grass Milk thistle in bog,
Rain on the rock face That’s hidden by fog.
Now hikers arrive Exploring our land,
They marvel and ponder Hill stick in hand.
Cameras click scenes As clouds hover by,
Threatening to burst And fall from the sky.
Sights we have seen We’d share if we could,
Over chapters of time Not understood.
The passage of time Sees men come and go,
Yet Seasons are steadfast On Eragail we know.
Wind in the sedge grass Milk thistle in bog,
Rain on the rock face That’s hidden by fog.
Wind in the sedge grass Milk thistle in bog,
Rain on the rock face That’s hidden by fog.
Wind in the sedge grass Milk thistle in bog.
