PRIMROSES FOR AISLING
A poem
It’s rising dawn.
From high on a hill
He looks down over Carlingford Lough
Shining in the low distance.
He turns to see his sheep and lambs
Grazing his land
The land his father worked.
He loves this place, this springtime of the year,
Has learned the intricacies of birth and death in fold and field
He has tended this night’s births well.
Dawn is well lit
The light below in the kitchen a field away is bright.
A last look about him then he moves towards the house.
But do not imagine his mind, busy with his lambs and sheep
Does not imbibe the beauty of the hills and hedges.
Returning to the house he gathers the spring’s loveliness
A bunch of primroses, moist with dew
Bears them in his working hands
And offers them to his young wife
As she waits at the open door.
The gift, the beauty of their yellow paleness
Fills her with love
She holds them to her face, looks up to him and takes his hand.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Text © Mary Walsh.
Image of grazing sheep is © E.M. Powell.
Mary Walsh was born in County Armagh. She came to Manchester and trained as a nurse in Ancoats hospital. Some years later she went into teaching and taught English in Thornleigh College, Bolton until she retired. She has been a member of the Irish Writers since 2007.
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