Milltown Mallbay

Shadow along the black skeleton
of what is rest from the monastery
while white golf heads are crying 

about the witch Mal, who once
cracked earth by fire from deep caves
and drowned there with many sailors.

Now mills are turning here a new time,
in the bay light is playing over the water
that chatters quietly on the beach.

But, in the pub, that evening,
one still repeats sagas, with a Guiness
and melancholy of uilleann pipes.