Dublin, Ireland

I just woke up in Dublin,

With a belly full of cider and sin.

And leaning on my side,

I reached in my pocket for the railway paper

Where I’d scrawled a single verse

While travelling Ireland from east to west.

It read…

Life is Not a perpetual climb towards Greatness.
For our family, ourselves, and friends,
it is but sad Decay, and,
let every girl die after her Hebé (Ἥβη)
and every man after his Aristeia (ἀριστεία).

And reading it over, I added nine lines that my dreams left behind.  A second verse to conclude the first…

There is nothing more lovely on all of the earth,
In space, to the stars and the moon
In the dark of a wood,
On the sand of a beach,
Or the Curl of a Wave—
Then the Innocence
Of a young girl, save
The Beauty of
Woman Bloomed.

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