How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder <br />that a whole city—arches, pillars, colonnades, <br />not to mention vehicles and animals—had all <br />one fine day gone under? <br /> <br />I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then. <br />Surely a great city must have been missed? <br />I miss our old city— <br /> <br />white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting <br />under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe <br />what really happened is <br /> <br />this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word <br />to convey that what is gone is gone forever and <br />never found it. And so, in the best traditions of <br /> <br />where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name <br />and drowned it. <br /> <br /> <br />Eavan Boland<br /><br />Eavan Aisling Boland<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/atlantis-a-lost-sonnet-2/
