What inspired this poem was twofold: a wander through the woods in Killarney and the untimely death of a dear friend.

There remains an antique land of polished green dreams Beneath a mist, thick and clean Where great blue flutes in waves of wind sweep a waltz Of Irish rain across a rocky plainTo plunder dreams in greens
It seems-There came a lull from seven days of Irish rain And though my boots still wet from journey’s [...]