Solstice comes to Ireland
with a profusion of flowers
blooming in colorful splashes
near Gaelic door and window,
in delicately lavender bursts
of rhododendron flung
about the wooded vales,
in brilliant gorse garlanding
each windy, walled-up field,
in climbing nasturtium,
and all the wild turf flowers,
in scent of roses vining
on long lost walls of memorial ruin,
in clover and heather spread
over ancient slopes dressed new
in greening fresh cloak
as Celtic spring assuredly
matures into a bonny Erin
summer by the shimmering sea.
first published in St. Anthony’s Messenger
©1997 Bonnie Manion