"bushmills" poems
O'er the Causway road
To the lands of the giants
We smile as the Atlantic roars below
The path is green, our hearts says go
Past the rope bridge we sidle on
The skerries frighten us with their brawn
Careful o' oncomers
Breath in, they're vaughn
The architect's house
Provides little shelter
The harbour fights
The seaweed felters
Near the hill, the Scots and Rathlin anew
No time to stop, no time for a brew
The waters rage
No traffic, no queue
We reach the beach
'n cross the stream
The weather draws in
The water's sea beam
Back home via Bushmills
The Inn is a stop
Guinness and mussels
The head, what a top
On reflection we drop our pace
For this happy journey is not but a race
What a joy those places are for me
What a joy for you to see
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 4:14 AM UTC