cold bones of ash
brush down
hidden in seeds
of carbon
flesh of daoine sídhe
commend both sides
with grief
it’s flowing down
running around
madmen on toadstools
squawking of sound
many moons to see
poison was free
move on down
into valley
maple, rust
phoenixes of dust
have come upon
thee, naught be
here now
come on down
death moves quietly
evening nightshade
no wheat to sow
nor corn to grow
just bones in ash
ashen tones
seeded in carbon
no more disease
just nothing
now, bereft
empty seasons
of greystone snow
all journeyed onto
great halls below
o sorrow, o sorrow
come on down.
love lost, not found
in Poulnabrone
barrow mound.
image courtesy of Pinterest
RamJet Poetry 