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Glendalough
by Victoria McCabe

The dismal grey of the rain-soaked clouds
hanging like dark veils over weary skies
darken and subdue the lush power
lurking in the thick green of the Wicklow Mountains

The crowded bus rocks on its dirty wheels
as it speeds along the tiny dirt road
that snakes and curls around the ancient trees
and empty stone churches

The Glen of the Two Lakes appears
cradling the abandoned monastery
Craggy rocks and broken trails
circle the pristine water

What venerable history dwells
beneath the surface of that sacred water?
Lost to the echelon of pilgrims flocking
for confirmation of the soul's existence

Too profane to pray among the headstones
that rest beneath the round tower
as modern life intrudes on the sacred graves
of Saints and Sinners and The Unknown.

Other poetry by Victoria McCabe:

• Arrival Gate