The Hermit of Moher

A seagull glides overhead, a hungry ghost between worlds,

She drops something stone-like into the lochén – a pebble from Malahide perhaps?

A childs soul, lost in the shadows since the famine, finally returning home.

I am a hermit. God knows, I ring the bells at first light and flocks of seagulls bark at me from the cliffs of Moher; they steal away, over the blood shot…

Local poet/writer. ‘There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.’ E. Hemingway. All ©️DMM

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Local poet/writer. ‘There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.’ E. Hemingway. All ©️DMM

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