A Bhí Bean Uasal

29 years since we met.

I leaned my back against an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
but first it bent and then it broke
and thus my love proved false to me.
For love is gentle, and love is kind
A tender rose when first it’s new
but love grows old, and waxes cold
And fades away like morning dew.

Trad. Arr.

 I will find out where she has gone,And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.



About Alan

Alone in a sea of spinifex.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Depression, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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