WINTERING
while traipsing October's fogs
I ate to nourish it
made a cocoon for it
laid it with slow reverence in a hollow
For fourteen nights
some cursed sleep's been after me
while I've been up feeding on darkness
Don't say a word
Don't look in my direction
There's something on my heart that can't be lifted
– I give in to wintering –
You won't see me till the buds start to blossom
© 2008, Ailbhe Ní Ghearbhuigh
© Translation: 2010, Billy Ramsell
© Translation: 2010, Billy Ramsell
Poem of the week
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