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

Settling into my 7th decade and still determined not to grow up too soon.
This entry was posted in Autobiography, Depression, Philosophy, Poetry, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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