Lost words from generations,
That have soared a thousand skies;
Have found me in a garden in Paraguay..
Faces, blood that soaked the Celtic soil
Where the first longships arrived;
From Clontarf, down to Sackville Street,
Memories of a lost race, still survive.
I am haunted, by their voices,
As the the last one of the line;
They have blessed me with their burdens,
But their sins,are also mine.
© Fingleton (Septembre 2016) (Löst Viking)