Track of her tears
Down the twisted roads and ways they flow.
The tears that with her blood and flesh will go
Spilt on the living clay to washed it clean
And for the lost, we hear her mournful keen
She cries for all her children lost to grief
Cries for the blackened liar and the shameful thief
For those who became blind and lost their way
She cries too for the idle, led astray.
And on will flow the river of her tears
Way beyond their youthful growing years
Beyond the day, fruit of her womb will die
Unending are the tears that she will cry.
© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com