by Kevin Heaton
I will court you in the Gaelic,
drunk on Irish coffee; where
little people rosie round the age
rings of a tree. We will harken
to the shamrocks, count each others
fingers, then lie down on ‘Tiveragh
Hill,’ in velvet green.
Showing posts with label Kevin Heaton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kevin Heaton. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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