Samuel Estabrooks

Shrouded In The Mist

Shrouded in the mist of the cold North Sea,
Lies an isle of green tranquility,
Where peace is key and despair known naught,
The green Irish land is where restrictions are forgot.

Over the island, like waves over the deep,
Lush hills roll and ridges leap,
Rocky knolls and lush, grass-covered dunes,
Swim over the land under the cool gaze of the cloud-covered moon.

Gracing the mounts with an aura seldom known,
Flows tranquil tides like the ocean’s quiet, nautical drifts,
Carrying calm throughout, which to man’s spirits uplift,
And to the calm slopes where the verdant grasses have grown.

Along the crisp summits, like sage-colored kelp beds,
Rise misty, green forests with damp, nipping gusts low overhead,
Naturally growing under the dun, bleak skies,
Are fresh, scrubby groves that upwardly rise.

At the land’s edge drop rocky cliffs and gray moors,
Like Davy Jones’ Locker and trenches coated with lees,
But pummeled by waves and raw, biting winds,
Plunge steep rocky crags to the cold churning seas.

Pocketed over the gentle shores,
Live pleasant folks in cities like Kilarney or Cork,
In vivid reefs built of cobblestones and old field-rocks,
Fair Celtic pride ebbs from narrow streets to the docks.

As are the ocean doldrums, strewn with the odd sea-wreck,
Gaelic chronicles left behind relics from the historic past,
From ferrous monuments to Monasterboice crosses,
These scattered ruins have long been and will keep to last.

Like bright sunbeams darting about through the sea’s shallows,
Celtic melodies flit about merrily with words of passion,
Dancing with quick notes that play at smooth heartstrings,
And fill the imagination with dreams of journeys and compassion.

Dwelling on Emerald Isle like the sea otters, playing day and night,
Live those folks of seaside boroughs and towns on the dewy heights,
With bright, witty words and often amiable smiles,
Their disposition fits the land mile to mile.

So, far north in fog, in the midst of bleary seas,
Is this harmonious realm whose landscape gusts under its clammy breeze,
Gently rolling in their serene, leafy accord,
Without worries in this pleasant domain of cool Irish concord.




[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]


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