The tour guide was usually a taxi-driver,
But for a few extra Euros, he was my guide.
Jobs are scarce.
For two hours we toured Yeats Country,
Me, sitting beside this man of letters, and for once,
Enjoying the drive and not the anxiety
On Irish roads.
They're narrow and winding to Ben Bulben,
With stops at neolithic stone circles, burial mounds,
Passageways and, A Fairy's Fort.
The culmination was  Drumcliff Churchyard
Where I was to prove his existence.
He has an unassuming stone,
One usually doesn't linger long,
But my Guide stood beside me,
And suddenly recited,
The Fiddler of Dooney.
I was sure it was Yeats' accent,
This unassuming poet.
I did as bid,
I
Cast a cold eye,
And stood glad that
I
Wasn't him,
As I stopped,
Before passing by.

As I sit upon the rocks now,
I can't think of a better place.
With the fish like a tower above me,
And the sun shine upon my face.
It is not yet Summer,
But the air feels soft and warm.
The wide world that surrounds me,
Has taken a new form.
The sky that sits above me,
Is filled with a mixture of bright hues.
And while I'm looking right up,
I think of all the 'yous'.
The ones I think of during my daytime,
And those I see within my dreams,
And those I will only ever get to reach,
Through the sun beams.
I know I grew callous for months there,
And I'm sincerely sorry for that.
But the feelings that I felt so deep,
Were really difficult to combat.
I've found here in the sunshine,
My innate self is breaking straight through.
And I really hope if you're reading this,
You know I've written it for you.
The you that did not leave me.
The you that has held on.
The you that is the reason,
I eventually grew strong.
I've been sitting here for hours now,
But it feels like years instead.
And I'm waiting for something,
To follow the path I've led.
It's not all that straight-forward,
There are many obstacles it must cross.
From every painful defeat to failure,
To every rueful regret and loss.
I know I must be patient,
For good things come to those who wait.
And just as I look up now,
I feel glad for my true faith.
I know now I can stop running,
And truly begin to love me.
I can let happiness finally catch up,
So that what is destined, will be.

Too big to call it yours,
Too small to compete.
Not the wisdom from your mouth,
Or the knowledge in your feet.
Never yours nor never mine.
Ours, together.

The stones that had sat, old.
The water's depth surround.
It wasn't fame that we did need,
Just organics on the ground.
See, we are all the one,
A family, you might say.
Sheltered from the sun,
but skies are never grey.

The Shelly Place is ours,
Perhaps, we are the shells.
Perhaps, we are not.
Time could only tell.
Home to the big glass house,
And the massive fish.
A location for a prayer,
Or to make a wish.

It is home.