Souls Alive

SOULS ALIVE

On the wild west coast of Clare
The lime rock lays bare
The history of time
Maybe a thousand warriors
Disintegrated before
A thousand Celtic Helens
And died in layers
On this ancient salt mine.
In the desperate inclines
Of Croagh Patrick
Maybe a saint
Slipped and accidentally
kissed a tender lip
Why should we find it
So hard to understand
That a saint
Could slip
And become a man?
In the windswept white strand
Of Kinnadoughy
There are fishermen
Who can’t swim
But who can steer any ship
They may not say much
But they are certainly fit.
In the barren fields
Of Creggenbawn
Where it is so hard to sow
Anything that lasts
Souls spring eternal
And bear a repast
Sometimes you can hear
Their voices echo
Off the Mountain of Mweelwra
As you drive toward
The town
They are talking to you
Telling you to slow down
Life is too precious
To go too fast
The future is meaningless
Without the past