A WINTER'S MORNING AT THE LONG SHORE By Anthony Duhan.
A single cormorant fishes quietly just off Killeen's corner,
A lone swimmer takes the punge at the 40 foot,
A solitary heron sits at the
edge of the grove,
A scallop of a slat breaks the surface just below Ford's trench.
Somewhere in the bushes a pair of bullfinches are piping to each other;
Over on St. Thomas's Island two more herons sit hunched
On the ruin of the
old monastery staring silenly towards the Mill Road.
The Lax weir where the king of all fish (salmon)
Were once trapped and captured, lies deserted and forlorn;
The old castle gives one the impression that it will tumble and fall.
The Mill stream flows quietly though heavily in flood.
A watery sun bathes the trees and the water,
It's a winters morning at the Long Shore, it won't be long now until spring comes
And the anglers will come up the river with their
rods and their boats
In search of the great spring salmon.
Up here peace and tranquility reign and words like
Nuclear, atomic and biological war have no meaning.