Took a trip to the Emerald Isle

                   forewarned to beware

                   its captivating spell

                 still capture me it did.

Following footsteps of those who tread the path before

        listening to whispers, searching for ghosts

           echoing strains of melancholy tunes

                misty clouds on mountains

            shadows counting heads of sheep.

                         Behind gypsy gates

                wild daisies cover mossy walls

           where faces known as well as my own

                suggest a story never told

           and mysteries reveal themselves

                 across silent fields of stone.

            Carefully crafted grey rock heart

                                 waits

                    on a sandy shore in Aran

                      like coins in a fountain

                       keeping wishes safe

                         will I ever return

                          Will I ever leave?