A ruined cottage
lingers in the field.
Its idle chimney
mourns a turf-fed fire,
which starved to death
when broken faces,
round the hearth,
laid down the sleán and left,
taking risks of promise
and the ache of going,
leaving a gaping doorway
to welcome wind
and emerald moss.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
9 December 2025
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