An Bláth Beag
There is a warmth
In the wind swept west.
A candled corner,
Couched in the light
Of reflected braids,
Flaxen and youthful.
And joy at the solitude
Amidst the throng.
Of memories and not,
Noise and music.
The dancing brews
And waltzing meads.
And dreams.
Those daring hemlines
Of imagination.
Lifting and satin.
Life’s metaphors
Caressed in the self.
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