‘The Darkside’ a winter thing

The Darkside

When I talk about the dark side

I mean the twisted carrier

Of the seed of wisdom

Roaming in her seasonal skin

Through the frozen forests of Europe,

The bare branches and black soil of the Celtic warrior,

The pre-electric nights

And footslogging it across the Donegal ridge

To the January breakers of the East Atlantic

Crashing against the cliffs near Carrick.

When I talk about the dark side

I mean the force behind the terror,

The long wait for green stems and fat bellied fruit

And the yearly path we stumble along

Towards the pot of gold

That is the rainbow.

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