(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
