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"cathain" poems
In my dream the other night, I first heard a panicked mot's voice: *"Is me, mo ghile mear! Cathain a thoicfaidh tú abhaile chugam?"* When light then entered my eyes, I saw a young woman hunched o'er a table She writing, quill in hand, to her man. Like a ghost I hovered o'er her. I saw the year, 1745 The year of the Jacobite. I blinked my eyes And my world went black. Once opened again, I saw that time had passed And a tear-stained letter lay on the desk. Mo leannán fionn, the letter read *Tá me i ndeoraíocht. Is ár bprionsa caillte. A stór, mo ghrá thú, ach Níl riamh feicfidh mé tu arís.* When I awoke that morn, The ghosts of the lovers haunted me. I pitied that mot, who lost her love forever to exile I pitied that cove, exiled from his love forever. Though only shades, their story Is from the dawn of time.
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Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:01 PM UTC
hannah-mcmullan
The Dream
In my dream the other night, I first heard a panicked mot's voice: *"Is me, mo ghile mear! Cathain a thoicfaidh tú abhaile chugam?"* When light then entered my eyes, I saw a young woman hunched o'er a table She writing, quill in hand, to her man. Like a ghost I hovered o'er her. I saw the year, 1745 The year of the Jacobite. I blinked my eyes And my world went black. Once opened again, I saw that time had passed And a tear-stained letter lay on the desk. Mo leannán fionn, the letter read *Tá me i ndeoraíocht. Is ár bprionsa caillte. A stór, mo ghrá thú, ach Níl riamh feicfidh mé tu arís.* When I awoke that morn, The ghosts of the lovers haunted me. I pitied that mot, who lost her love forever to exile I pitied that cove, exiled from his love forever. Though only shades, their story Is from the dawn of time.
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