David Boll
Dun Aengus
One day, instead of them coming to Dun Aengus
On the Isle of Aran by a slow ship
Open to grey sky, to the grey sea rimmed
With grey hills, and the clouds aqueous
Almost as water, drifting down
In tenuous filaments, rain and foam
Together tingling the skin, then jolting
Along in a donkey cart, till they have to walk
Uncomfortably over limestone veined with flowers
To the grey wall rising above them, and the high
Cliff crunching the sea to white -
They will come in swift boats then
By motor coaches to the door, and
The walls will be less serious, the cliff
Lower, the whole sharp-edged
Scene fumed over with cushions.
Page(s) 7
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