Sadness touches the lines on her face.
A face that was once smooth with grace.
Age came visiting and left the trace,
Now she is searching to find her place.

Beauty did once belong to her,
She believed it would last forever.
But time has marked her like the weather,
She is now lost amongst the wild heather.

Once they used to call her the Celtic Queen.
For many her beauty was always seen,
Now faded like an actress on the silent screen.
She is wondering why life seems like a scene.

She sometime wishes that she could die,
Because for her faded beauty she will cry.
If to be beautiful again she would try,
Beauty has left her and she ponders why.

But if she opened her eyes to see,
That in my eyes she is always beauty.
Time come to us as it has to be.
My Celtic Queen always is beautiful to me.

(not While You Were in Ireland)

For you,
He Who Doesn’t Like Poetry,
Here’s a short one
That I vow I will not
Read aloud.

You are my
Inward breath,
The one I take
At the crest of every
Steep hill,
Ready to descend.

You are my
Exhalation,
The one I release
When Elliott’s voice
Reminds me
Of another tenuous life.

You aren’t only there
Where you are,
But you are here
Where I am,
Breathing.