I’ve waited a lifetime to reach Donegal,
With its mountains encircled by seas:
To see roads tightly-wound, around peat-enriched ground,
Every gorse bush a chorus of bees.
To drink in broad bays topped with high tide-flecked dunes,
All bedecked with pastel-hued stones:
To see broad-sweeping beach stretching far out of reach
Save for deep-walled, hewn hill-sheltered homes.
© Tom Tide 2017