Aisling  
  
Often in the music of the wind
in some stony place recalled to mind
neglected tombs that now are seldom traced
hold celtic knots and swirls upon its face.
 
Knockmany passage tomb in all its presence
instills in me the beauty of the ancients
whose skill and art have traveled land and sea
to keep our spirit in its company.
 
I stand against this tomb of Carleton’s valley
surrounded by the mountains, bog and beauty.
United we sing songs towards the wind
delighted at my growth of soul within.
 
Leaving now this tomb of pagan origin;
heightened thoughts renewed in earthy vision.
The mindful song than sings along the breeze
is forever placed within my memories.