Like a spear his spout does pierce The saturated air When he in flight does lift his frock Like a dancer fair. His dress is darkened like the night But glimmers as the stars When he is bathed in seldom light Poured out by sunnen’s jars. At lightened hills did he begin His journey over lands Well-fed by rain and ancient tales And formed by stormy hands. But will his journey ever end? This nobody can say. In his wild heart he carries home And needs no place to stay.

“Aernahéireann” they do call me, The Island’s breath I spend And give all lives that live beneath me A base to rise and sing and fly And fall and drown and choke and cry, But even if it seems that I (And not just seems since this is true) Have such an oppositional temper; Yet, my mind is moderate. My meat is moist and dense and fruitful, And gently hearts at their first bite Might feel depressed thanks to my weight But if they stay under my wings My call, it brings their inne

Since I find myself in Ireland for the next nine months I decided to start a little cycle of english poems ragrding my stay and the impressions I get in this breathtaking country. Follow the link to find all poems: Da ich mich nun für die nächsten neun Monate in Irland aufhalte, habe ich mich entschieden, einen kleinen Zyklus englischer Gedichte zu beginnen, in denen ich versuchen werde, die Eindrücke, die ich während meines Aufenthalts in diesem atemberaubenden Land sammeln