PULL ME OUT OF THE WELL
I landed in Ireland on the back of a lamb;
looking out from a skirted tree : myths and
stories from Lindisfarne were calling. I'd
made mention to myself to stay until I
knew all of them. Every word to Wales.
-
Now my heart is in tatters and the bottom
of my feet are sore. My nose won't stop
running and I've been on this road too
long. Brother, brother, can you spare
me some food?
No comments:
Post a Comment