The Woods of Lisnagra

THE WOODS OF LISNAGRA High on the bleak moorland of Lisnagra There is a shady wood of swaying trees That creak and groan when bowed and tempest tossed. A sandy track emerges from the wood Winding o’er the moor of Lisnagra To meet the mountain boulders strewn and wild Where white marsh flowers bow before the gale. And overhead the lonely curlew flies Uttering screams that pierce the solitude And echo far o’er mountain, lake and fall. Eithne Anderson. (extract)…