Saturday, May 03, 2008

Lines On The Land

We have no prairies
To slice a big sun at evening –
Everywhere the eye concedes to
Encrouching horizon,

Is wooed into the cyclops’ eye
Of a tarn. Our unfenced country
Is bog that keeps crusting
Between the sights of the sun.

They’ve taken the skeleton
Of the Great Irish Elk
Out of the peat, set it up
An astounding crate full of air.

~Seamus Heaney

Save Tara!

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