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Click R&R 280214 Carol Boland.mp3
to start the interview.
Hopefully this poem will be out of date very soon!
A Winter
Village
They drive
through
unmarked
crossroads
blind to our
ancient church
and tombstones
shivering below
the road
deaf to metal
on metal
in the heat of
the old forge
roofless and
silent now.
Where is our
village pump
the mill in the
grove
the standing
stones at Ballintlea.
Where are our
paths by river
through
woodland
that keep the
soul
from wandering
off the beaten
track.
I have heard
the heron’s call
fly across the
Moor
and in the
waters of the Bann
I have seen the
salmon leap.
Carol Boland