The stinging chills from the morning breezeSweeping through my clotheMy skin forms bumps…
Small faces beam, eyes shining bright, little hands that grasp and hold. Laughter rings…
A quarter of a centuryNever thought I’d see the day
Spider mother will devour her own children,One by one, if they don’t obey.
A combine mixed the air,With grass blades and boreen* roads.I’m reaching up to grasp…