An embrace by Suir River, One evening in time, Young lovers together, In love’s perfect rhyme. Two young souls embracing, As the evening stood still In salute to the wonder, Sweet haunting me still. What mysterious other, So charmed my young heart, Its miraculous mystery, That shall never depart, Oh, hazel-eyed beauty, Sweet mistress of charms, Then, now and forever, To dwell in my arms. Oh dear heart of heaven, My soul now on fire, Enchantment your presence, Oh wild, wild desire, My hazel eyed darling, My day and my night, Enthralling and calling, To dreams of delight. A love that was born, That time long ago, By the banks of Suir River, Where young lovers go. Not now but forever, Till love is no more, Shall we be together, As that time by sweet Suir. Oh memory eternal, Sweet love of our youth, This is my abiding, My magnificent truth! Oh beautiful memory That never shall go, Sure as this love’s forever, Sure as Suir waters must flow.
END.
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
Mysterious notes so charm my Celtic heart. Sad, sombre, beautiful, merry, free. Thoughts, sentiments of fellow Gaels that dart Through my soul – fine melodic history. The music makers – dead – still haunt with joy, Kickham, Davis, Moore – that legion of repute Whose notes of majesty will live for aye, To make the cripple dance and dare the mute. To nerve the shattered soldier – fast refrain. To melt the hardened heart, a song of woe. Such fire to stop a regiment in its train And cause the flickering heart once more to glow. The music of a nation strong and proud, Fiery as flames and sombre as grey clouds. END
From “Cherry Blossoms”by Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
According to Ireland’s meteorology service, Met Éireann, our provisional weather data shows that the Autumn of 2021 was the warmest on record. The temperature between the start of September and the end of November averaged at 12.02°; 1.8° degrees above average, making it the 11th consecutive year where Irish temperatures increased above our norm. A bitterly cold northern breeze this afternoon has now changed all that, with temperatures reduced to 6.00°.
Meanwhile, poking about in the garden today, I find that the daffodils bulbs, while arriving a month later this year, are now rapidly emerging above ground.
Their arrival always reminds me of that wonderful poetry of American Poetess Emily Dickinson, (December 10th, 1830 – May 15th, 1886). Emily, who choose to live much of her life in isolation, once stated that she was “a lunatic on bulbs”; same statement referring to her absolute passion for daffodils and other spring perennials, which she grew at her family home in Amherst, Massachusetts, U.S.
Her poem “Perhaps You’d Like To Buy A Flower?” shown hereunder, fully confirms her true love of gardening and flowers and possibly reveals, for the first time, the secret feelings of all passionate gardeners.
Perhaps You’d Like To Buy A Flower?
Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower? But I could never sell. If you would like to borrow Until the daffodil Unties her yellow bonnet Beneath the village door, Until the bees, from clover rows Their Hock and Sherry draw, Why, I will lend until just then, But not an hour more! END
The word ‘Hock’, contained in the poem above, refers to a British term for German white wine, made from an aromatic grape variety grown in the Rhine region.
We shall not in drawing up to the red-coaled fire, In a profusion of spirits, in the hollied room Your presence dishonour with forgetfulness, But rather shall we in music and wine And in the memory of another place and happy time, Toast you, our absent ones. Nor, as the Carols reach to the Christmas stars In praise of the glorious grandeur of the world, Nor, as childrens’ voices herald a new awakening, Shall we forget the warmth, Of a time of togetherness, But in a quiet prayer, pure as snow crystals Give thanks for what you were to our hearts, For what you’ll ever be Unto the last Yuletide. So, in a good spirit, Glad for the plenty and the peace, Joyous for our family and our friends. With all the people of the earth And in our merriment and mirth We do remember you, our dear and absent ones. END.
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
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