Across the sea, scintillant, ancestors sigh
with a gust that skips along circuits of years,
seeking the ones who have sailed by and by
to another land searching for respite from tears.
Tears follow, they follow, in memory’s heart;
The travellers travel yet never do part.

In memory’s currach they sailed with the Sun,
all golden and red, past the fall of the land
to a land for the greening of memory begun
in the blessing of hope and the ancestors’ hand.
Tears follow, they follow, in memory’s heart;
The travellers travel yet never do part.

At home, the green wetness and ribbons of mist
touch the stones and the spirals, the memory hies
from the air which the stones and the wetness have kissed
to the heart of the child who in western night lies.
"I dreamed, oh, I dreamed of blessing and life
in the land that will ever be child and wife."

Across the sea, scintillant, ancestors sigh
and their breath is the breath of the one who has sailed
far away, in whose memory they shall not die,
from whose heart their own hearts shall never be veiled.
Hope follows, it follows in memory’s heart;
the travellers travel yet never do part.

©1998, M. Bruno