At the Banks of the Garavogue

At dusk, when the shadows are falling
under street lights in Doorly Park,
you pause as you hear someone calling
your name through the trees in the dark;
turning round, you will notice the funny
physique of a pitiful rogue
who asks for a smoke and some money
at the banks of the Garavogue.

The wind picks up breath, and you shiver
besides the stream and stand still
near the islet astern of the river
where the waters approach from Lough Gill.
A boatman is cursing the weather
and casts out his homemade drogue
as the ominous storm clouds gather
o’er the banks of the Garavogue.

In the distance you hear the fright’ning
thunder rolling to mark his domain,
accompanied by the first lightning.
In seconds you’re drenched by the rain,
and as the thunder comes nigh, go
as quick as you can in your brogue,
and return to the shelter of Sligo
from the banks of the Garavogue.