Wet strawberries after rain A smell I’ve missed From Irish summers As a country child Wafts to me now Post thunderstorm In a different land Mingling memories Of strawberry picking At twelve and thirteen With humid summers Here in adulthood. Neither summer ideal But scented the same. Some things will always Remind me of home.
Today I read in the Irish Times that Seamus Heaney’s poem When All The Others Were Away At Mass was crowned favourite Irish poem in the last 100 years. I was never a big fan of Seamus Heaney but I was a little disappointed in myself that I couldn’t even recite a single line of… Continue reading Ireland’s Best-Loved Poem & A Lesson in Creating Closeness