In North-West Mayo, there is a place: Carrowmore or Fionn Loch. It is a place of silent and singular beauty.


early rain

We sought the shore
of Carrowmore
beneath a swollen sky
and on the waiting
surge torn path
the air began to cry
an early rain
so deep at first
your hair
grew dark as mine
then in the first grey
lights of life
our souls, the wind,
entwine.




Poetry by Peter Humphreys The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 637 times
Written on 2007-02-16 at 14:27

Tags Beauty  Lake  Mayo 

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Marte Natalie
Wondeful.
2007-02-18


Rik The PoetBay support member heart!
Never manged to drag my soul to Ireland but your words stir the romantic image i hold. A most enjoyble read which just flows so easily.
2007-02-18



"the air began to cry"
this line here left me stunned...it is simply a tremendous beauty in it, and, at least for me, it is the generating reason of this poem...maybe i am wrong about this, but i sure am right when i say that the poem remains splendid in its whole form...
Lilly xxx
2007-02-16