FACING WEST 6 Replies The grey stone gable Is the last vestige Of the cottage on the headland. Nettles grow thick At its lichen-covered feet. It faces west Toward the sunset, Toward America. AdvertisementShare this:TwitterFacebookEmailPinterestMoreRedditTumblrLinkedInLike this:Like Loading... Related
Lovely. The westward drain of generations leaves such strangely beautiful scars.
So true. The scars of Irish emigration–past and present–are all over the landscape of the West of Ireland.
Nice! Feels like this poem really connected to me, in America. =)
Thank you. Glad the poem resonated with you.
Strong images. Thanks for stopping by Poemattic. Look forward to reading your blog. Great photos.
Thank you–glad you liked the photos.