And None Had Passed
That Way Before


Storm
And none had passed that way before
At least not for a while
And for the walker these trees and fences
Prove a challenge and a trial.
As the way through was battered by kicking limbs
As to bother walking was wondered why
The effort, the discomfort and the pain
By the walker who was I.
And upon clearing a path
I picked up the dropped matches
That fell from the pocket of my thorn scraped legs
Now sore from thorny scratches.
As as from the ditch a slid and fell
And through the undergrowth slid and got unstuck
I gathered myself and stood too see
The beauty among the muck.
And sinking feet in sodden fields
As the walker makes his way
Through the wilds of a mountain side:
An Edens garden of this latter day...

 

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Poetry by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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