Let's leave behind the foetid air of Broken Barnet and take a wander from Croagh Patrick, Mayo, and Mary Joyce, in Kilsallagh, to Innisfree, and a walk through the cool, green, mossy, lichen festooned Slish Woods ...
Funny how poets reading their own verse always sound so alien: but here is that beautiful poem for St Patrick's day, from Sligo, the home of Yeats, and the cradle of Mrs Angry's mtdna (yes, yes, County Clare was last year, and a different part of the equation):
Ah ... that's better ...
Sláinte.
No comments:
Post a Comment