When I Come to Ireland
Michael L Dellger
When I come to Ireland,
Mayo will whisper
from her piled stone fences
through her blowin' trees
that I have too long tarried
and which farm's for buyin'.
I will find St. Martin's dream
down dirt road tracks
a mile outside Westport.
I will hear uplands airy
carry fiddle tunes to taverns,
heart-tearing tributes
to the dead of '16.
When I come to Ireland,
I will learn to dive-
deep
as gray geese
from green-moss cliffs
into the blue-eyed water
of a woman
whose hair burns my fingers
and soft Gaelic tongue
calls me Gallagher again.
Michael Dellger
2215 NorthTaylor Drive
Sheboygan, WI 53083
USA
Email: schbibby@excel.net
poem about coming to ireland
