Spring Willow

I recall a place where I have been,

The greatest sight that I have seen,

A drooping willow by a stream,

Cascades a wondrous glowing green.

This old tree provides for reapers,

Supplying needs for Basket Weavers,

Cricket Bats, and old Meat Cleavers.

Music to, it has been said,

From Harp to Lute its wood did shed.

"Carve ye not, your name on me,"

Cries this old majestic tree.

What tales could tell, and may astound,

All those who chose to walk this ground.

Rippling currents gently flow,

Encourage primroses to grow.

Stepping stones, in crazed array,

Lapping waters held at bay.

An old Mill wheel, whose work is done,

Stands idle as the waters run.

This placid setting, by a stream,

Endears one's heart to plan a dream.

Relax and bide your time with me,

A dream fulfilled beneath a tree.

Endearing memories will abound,

For those who listen to the sound.

Murmuring brooks or streams that chatter

Adds a heartbeat pitter-patter.

A gentle cricket has its say,

As wind on vine, begins to sway.

Springtime breezes waft and blow,

Where air is clean with sunlight's glow.

An artist wish, a background grand,

Fading from this Promised Land.

The sights once seen, on common ground,

Alas in search, not one I found.

To those empowered, if I'm not mistaken,

Urban sprawl must reawaken.

Mini Malls can not replace

That, which once adorned this place.

© Nollaig 2003

Last time reviewed 03/03/2003

To view additional Irish content follow the links below:

"Limerick City; Home of Angela's Ashes"

You may email your comments here.