(1)             St Mullins  Poem No 1

 

St Mullins steeped in history a place of wondrous sights,

With peace slowly darkens as evening shadows dim the lights.

Grey ruins of Moling’s abbey in the distance stand,

His memory ever etched upon this Noble land.

 

Pikemen, Kings and Peasant neath shadowed tower rests

Inscriptions with time have worn names, titles fading crests.

Ghosts of Heroes long since past, The Valleys passes Guard,

Upon the Motte a growing shadow of an ancient bard.

 

Celtic crosses cast their shadows, tall markers of passing time,

Like time soldiers on sentry duty all gathered in marching line.

Kings, Chieftains with common man share this Holy ground,

In life exalted by their peers now lie neath common mound.

 

 

Above The Barrow valley the dark raven circles high,

As evening closes quietly clouds rush through the sky.

Rooks gathering, jostling, prepare for evening flight,

Badger awakens sensing dusk peeks out to scent the night.

 

 

 

Around the swelling waters a graceful swallow glides,

                    As the ever-patient Herron awaits the falling tides,

                    Shadows of raiding Viking ships about the Scar appear

       The clash of swords, the shouts of men, the ancient smell of fear.

 

Author Martin O’Brien