Two poems by Eileen Sheehan

    My Father, Long Dead My father, long dead, has become air Become scent of pipe smoke, of turf smoke, of resin Become light and shade on the river Become foxglove, buttercup, tree bark Become corncrake lost from the meadow Become silence, places of calm Become badger at dusk, deer in the thicket Become grass on the road to the castle Become mist on … Continue reading Two poems by Eileen Sheehan