Down the mountainside there lies a green mossy Glen,
Beyond the morning mist there just around the bend .
Scattered were the dewdrops that glistened on the Elm,
Before the open eyes of the Lakes fishermen .
They walked along the paths of the sleek silver trout,
Where the rays of the sun warm you inside and out .
The Glens Village slept cradled by the mountainside
Far away from where the fishermen go to hide .
Someone in the lake held up a trout in his hand ,
Around each bend a Glen awaits there in Ireland .
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Reviews of "The Irish Glen"
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik (Reader)
Reviewed on June 8, 2003
Ah, yes! You speak the truth, Paul.. for I saw this again and again when there. You celebrate it beautifully.. there is a quiet beauty in this poem.. so appealing. katy.
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~Nikki~