• how the Wicklow mountains mourn over tops of trees
    while the mist covers it with a blanket to hide it from the world
    with its white puffs of smoke.
    as if the mist is running its lips across the mountains siloutte at dark
    like a baby sucking at its thumb
    but unlike a baby it comes at night and goes at dawn
    never to be seen by the human eyes
    that stare upon it at day
    only to ever see the mist that covers it
    the only thing to see this mountain
    is the watchful eyes of the night
    with its eyes upon its beaty lit by the torch of the moon
    only ever to show its beaty to those who wonder
    what is there that we cant see

    the end
    by srd sakura