Mal
       low.

I’m from Mallow
rich with marsh

Our river’s black
bleak tainted harsh.

Our skies reflect
what is below

In sound in light
and winged crow.

In times of dark
the haunted speak

Their choral sounds
at midnight peak.

I’m from Mallow
by the lake

Where our banks
flood waters take.

We’ve got fountains
with dogs heads

Our gullies swell
then fill our beds.

The roads submerge
before our eyes

No warnings ever
of this rise.

I’m from Mallow
rhymes with shallow

Where knee deep
frogs end up in Tallow.



        For Willie Eaton.