sibling pilgrimage



    Donegal photo of three siblings seen

    seated on a Morris Minor bumper,

    mother-made our Aran jumpers,

    enthroned that bedraggled queen;

    see mountain mist slyly descend

    – what might that fog portend?


    Years later sibling-scholars went

    to language school at Loch Anure;

    our parents were entrepreneurs,

    once worked nearby: time spent

    pioneering with textile design –

    greatly blessed, locals benign.


    The youngest of three decided

    to visit weaving shed shrine

    of family myth, no holy sign –

    cottage whitewash walls guided

    our slow passage across the bog,

    sunken boots slowed foot slog.


    Then a shed offered rain-refuge,

    North-western weather altered:

    reams of rain, young voyagers halted,

    plastic macs dripped from deluge;

    feared the farmer, told our intent,

    food and tea offered, burnt-turf scent.


    Pilgrim journey then wisely cancelled,

    muscular mountains never traversed;

    that Donegal dream later reversed:

    wooden looms reluctantly dismantled;

    weave became flawed, soft fabric frayed;

    who could mend when few prayers made?




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