When trees unleave <br />we take to the road <br />that leads to Macumera <br />high in the hills <br />far from the city <br />in the plains below. <br /> <br />We dance and sing <br />in the moonlight. <br /> <br />The next morning <br />mail carriers in gray tunics <br />toting bags of gifts <br />climb the steep streets <br />of Macumera. <br /> <br />They offer us one and all <br />gifts and keepsakes <br />from the cloistered nuns <br />at Roscommon in Clare. <br /> <br />'Take this blood-red rose <br />and tiny gallows from <br />Our Lady's Asylum <br />at Roscommon <br />in County Clare! '<br /><br />Michael Pruchnicki<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-trip/
