Seeing some photographs of Donegal brought this back to me…
A seed. Long dormant.
Lovingly laquered, cradled womb-like by gentle turf.
For many generations.
By some fair chance comes an unearthing:
A keen eye fashions wings from time-frozen knots.
Carves a thrusting neck and beak.
Unleashes a Phoenix, now poised mid-arc,
Or bursting from beneath the fish- harbouring waves.
From this crucible centuries long,
Soars this sea-bird in flight.
© Tom Tide 2017