Boyne Poem

No thundering cliffs of wild heather here, But dreamlike nature, suave, genteel and seductive.

Ripples of blue in the wide expanse, Conceal imaginary salmon, swaying water lilies, and souls,

Who ended their earthly journey,

In its syrupy undercurrent.

She is proud of her long life,

Her place in a small nation’s history, A sacred keeper of bloody secrets and nefarious deeds.

Cradled in the arms of this county Louth town,

Her escort to the sea and witness to an unfading beauty,

In timeless majesty, for generations past, and yet to come. Dermot McGarthy