In the emerald fields where whispers dwell,
A shadowed path where legends softly tread,
The echoes of the ancient stories tell,
Of journeys where the living meet the dead.
The mournful winds through stone and heather weave,
A solemn dance beneath the silver moon,
In every leaf, the spirits gently grieve,
For time and tide have come to claim their boon.
The rivers sing of heroes long since past,
Their voices carried on the gentle stream,
In twilightâs glow, the shadows ever cast,
A bridge between the waking and the dream.
With every breath, the cycle turns anew,
A tapestry of life and death entwined,
The emerald isle, in mist and morning dew,
Holds secrets of the heart and of the mind.