Céide Fields (Eileen McMahon)

The sea rolls

And thrashes angrily

Against the confining

Weight of the

Cliffs of Céide

Only the sheep stand there

On the cropped

Moss and grass

Only the sheep can hold

Against the gales

That race against and over

The Cliffs of Céide

For five millennia

That we know

We have stood here

We ploughed, we must have reaped

Our sheep have come and gone

And cropped

And cropped

The grass and moss

Peat bog plants

And star spiked flowers

As years turned

One upon one

Marked by birth decay

Death

For fifty centuries

And the sea yet rolls

Against the feet of

The Cliffs of Céide