Into The Setting Sun

A glow of phosphorus orange hangs above the tree line,
Shrouded in clouds and time,

Used as an anchor,
A return to the peatlands of Bangor,

The road it twists and turns,
Offering the way the light it burns,

A path that leads to the west,
A place where I am at my best,

The walls they do appear in force,
Of stone and lichen laid in course,

Trees become thin on the ground,
Flat land very hard found,

Return to Mayo, return to my home,
Where the waves are whipped into a foam,

Settled in the nest of good will,
Down beside the river mill,

The Bunnadober covered in light,
Remnants of a millers plight,

To make work from a river,
Watching the Trout dart and quiver,

This is home, I call it so,
I'll never live far from my Mayo.

Trevor Seery - 11th September 2008