EPILOGUE
[ to William Butler Yeats ]
and to the saints of the Easter Rising, April 24, 1916; nothing is forgotten...
the mist falls and then lifts again and I have traveled back again after the rose red bordered hem
and all our songs trail off into the clearing long ago he knew when coming to the ford of Time
and casting Ireland into rhyme. oh, all is lost to win again the mystery of the rose red hem
though earth lies in her winter sleep, we still may sow where he had reaped the after times he dreamed of then
with the white swans rising, after all. 3 october 2016