Poetry

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DOCHARTACH

Thru the ancient hills of Erin
He travelled with purpose in mind,
But the cost of the battle behind him
Left him muddled, befuddled and blind.

Past the cross of Saint Mura of Fahan
'Neath the branches of ash and of oak
Toward the realm of the dark shades of Donegal
'Twas the spirit within him bespoke?

"Whence goest thou, warrior Dochartach
Have you traversed so far, yet in vain.
For your wanderings seemed to have left you
With nothing but chaos and pain."

"Be still in the knowledge before you
Like the warmth of the peat on the hearth
That you did what you had to for Eire
The land of your grandfather's birth."

When the sun set that e'en on the heather
And the loons called on Lough Swilly's banks
It was then that he walked to his humble thatched cottage
And his spirit and soul did awake.
For he called out to He who stands waiting
For the cry of the tempest tossed mind
And this man who had caused hurt to others
Left his pain and his shame far behind.

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