From Sligo to Glencar

The sun smiles brightly from the bluest skies:
this is the day to seize the day,
and so I walk along the busy road
to drink the beauties Life provides.

Ignoring all impatient motorists
I breathe the air of wood and sea,
and with the poet's heart I strongly feel
the power of the quiet things.

The cragged mountains are all dressed in firs,
in grass and broom, and far and near
there's daisies flanking streets and little brooks
and bluebells ringing in my eyes.

And after miles and miles I reach the lake
whose beauty crowns the pleasant walk,
sit down beside the water and refresh
my senses and my tired feet.

Soon two mute swans enjoy my company,
while every now and then some cars,
trespassers from a poorer world, rush by,
but pass too fast to break the peace.

And on I walk to see the waterfall
that's coming down the ancient rock:
the vibrant waterfall is grey with youth,
the ancient rock is green with age.

A tourist brings his family: he puts
them all beside the waterfall
and takes a snapshot, then they turn around
to hurry to another sight.

Barbed wires separate me from the brook
that's leading to the waterfall,
but I have climbed barbed wires all my life
to get the fragrance of this world.

And in the silence of the little stream,
surrounded by the whisp'ring trees,
uniting with the forces of the earth,
I rest and let my spirit roam.