Ireland Beloved Land

Ireland beloved land where his darling so longed to live. He promised her that one day, when they saved enough money, they would move to Ireland.

Memories ~

He was not really that old, not as old as observers thought he should be.

With his ragged clothes, the same ones he had worn for a few years now, he looked old, as old as time.

He felt old as he shuffled along the streets every day, looking for bits of food or something of value that had been tossed away.

Maybe an old wallet that had seen better days and is now worn out and empty, just like his heart.

He once had a love of an angel, a beautiful love with his sweet wife. So delicate was she, feminine and slender, like a faery queen that romped in the meadows.

Delightfully she laughed as he chased her through fields of wildflowers.

Her golden red hair flew in the wind as she ran, then he would catch her and they would roll among the sweet scent of flowers,

Her laughter echoing throughout the meadow and filling his heart with joy.

Her dream was to some day go to Ireland, her spiritual home she called the Emerald Isle.

Where her ancestors walked in days of old, and all the stories of folks were told.

Her green eyes sparkled when he promised her, someday they will live in a cottage there.

In the land of his beloved ~

Then she was gone – gone to her beloved lands in spirit. Gone from his life yet ever in his heart.

Only in spirit now did she run, laugh and linger in his arms when nights were cold,

Long nights when he dreamed, then woke with nothing but his pillow to hold.

The only dream left to him was to find a million dollars, go to Ireland, buy a little cottage, grow beautiful flowers, for her.

Where he could sit on warm summer evenings, watching her flowers gently sway in the breeze.

There he would live out his days in peace, with the scent of her filling all his senses.

There he would die, in the land of her ancestors – such a foolish dream, but relentless.

A million dollars! Ireland beloved land, only a dream.

He shuffled along the now empty and dark streets, alone in despair as his thoughts wandered.

I could end it now and be with her again. Yet that would be a mighty sin.

I must go on alone till I die, somewhere in a hole, dark and alone with gin, or maybe rye.

Ireland beloved land ~

He hears a whisper, gentle on the breeze, it is her voice! Let it be, please.

“Follow me, follow me” … he follows and stops when a small piece of paper lands at his feet.

He picks it up, but cannot see what it is. “Follow me…follow me”, the sweet voice echoed.

He takes the paper, a little card, to a store, close by, the old man there his only friend.

“Tell me what the paper is. Read it to me, friend, I have no glasses to see words, but she sent it to me.”

The old man looks at the paper, then looks at a list on his clipboard, frowning, then a smile breaks on his wrinkled face.

“Well, with this, my friend, you can buy all the glasses you need.

It is the only winning lotto ticket for two and a half million dollars I read!”

Ireland beloved land – there he would live and die, in the land of his darling Angel.

Ireland beloved land

 

Note from author ~

Sometimes, when one has lost their beloved, they cannot deal with that loss and give up on all they once had, even themselves – unless there is a miracle ahead which could help one live again. That miracle could be something as simple as finding a small piece of paper. A winning lotto ticket? Stranger things have happened.

Thank you for reading my poem. The Creative Exiles is my haven for poetry and short stories and I so appreciate your visit.

Blessings and may you always walk in Peace and Harmony, softly upon Mother Earth.

Phyllis
© Copyright 2016 All Rights Reserved Phyllis Doyle Burns
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Phyllis Doyle Burns
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Phyllis Doyle Burns

Site Manager, Senior Editor at The Creative Exiles
I have always liked to write.It is important to me that I write with spirit and heart. When writing poetry, if I do not feel a spiritual connection to what I am writing on, I will discard it and go on to something I can connect with on a spiritual level. I live in the moment, I write from the past or beyond the veil. When writing fiction I go with whatever inspires me at the moment - it could be funny, sorrowful, romantic or sometimes done with the use of colloquial language from mountain folk or other cultural regions. Thank you for visiting.
Phyllis Doyle Burns
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Phyllis Doyle Burns

I have always liked to write. It is important to me that I write with spirit and heart. When writing poetry, if I do not feel a spiritual connection to what I am writing on, I will discard it and go on to something I can connect with on a spiritual level. I live in the moment, I write from the past or beyond the veil. When writing fiction I go with whatever inspires me at the moment - it could be funny, sorrowful, romantic or sometimes done with the use of colloquial language from mountain folk or other cultural regions. Thank you for visiting.

11 thoughts on “Ireland Beloved Land

  • May 18, 2016 at 3:44 PM
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    A lovely poem of hope, Phyllis. It reminds us that miracles can happen and we should never give up on our dreams.

    Reply
  • May 18, 2016 at 6:16 PM
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    Hi Phyllis,

    A beautiful poem indeed. The Celtic ways intrigue me. I love the music, the scenery, and yes, the poems. In this case – yours. Thanks for sharing this one.

    Reply
  • May 18, 2016 at 8:41 PM
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    John, your are so right – miracles can happen. My dream is to live in Ireland and I will never give up on that. I knew when beginning to write this poem that I could not leave this sweet man homeless and forlorn. He needed a miracle and it was there for him. Thank you for reading and commenting.

    Reply
  • May 18, 2016 at 8:44 PM
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    Hi William ~

    Thank you for reading and commenting. Ireland is the home of my ancestors so I have a strong pull to it. Like you, I love the Celtic ways and traditions. Ireland is on my ‘bucket list’. Thanks again.

    Reply
  • May 18, 2016 at 9:55 PM
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    Indeed a fine tale and moving verse from such a lass as you my dear poet. I too am Celtic, my father is half Irish, his father is a Brit his mother from Dublin, so that puts some Irish blood in this poet’s veins. Ireland too is on my bucket list, but I’m not waiting to win a lotto. Hopefully I will be there in a couple of years. I am happy that we are all able to be dreamers for with out dreams what hope would we have of visiting all the wonderful places on earth, but to make them a reality, now that’s a different story. I wish you only the best to be in your beloved Emerald Isle, you belong there, I fell it in my heart and soul. A beautiful poetic journey you took me on in this fine scribe.

    Reply
    • May 19, 2016 at 7:25 AM
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      Thank you, Vincent. From the Vikings on down, my Irish blood is strong and inspires me to often write about Ireland in some way. Thanks for your comment, always interesting.

      Reply
  • May 19, 2016 at 5:22 AM
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    Beautifully written in such romantic prose evoking the warmth of memorize and a lovely story that allow a soul to at lease restore a life to accept the loss of his love. Well done Phyllis.

    Reply
  • May 19, 2016 at 7:28 AM
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    Thank you, Tony. Even though she was gone, her love saved him and gave him strength. I so appreciate your comment.

    Reply
  • May 22, 2016 at 2:25 PM
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    A beautiful poem touched my heart. Miracles happen and the man can go to Ireland with the wind blowing good luck his way.

    Reply
  • July 25, 2016 at 7:37 PM
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    This was lovely and winsome and sad. My dad’s side of the family was Irish. He and his wife were planning a trip to Ireland when he died suddenly. I would love to go myself someday.

    Reply
    • July 25, 2016 at 8:17 PM
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      Thank you so much, Lori. My Dad’s ancestors came from Ireland, too. My brother has been over there three times and has fallen in love with the Emerald Isle. I would love to go there someday. Thank you for reading and commenting, I appreciate it.

      Reply

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