AS I was climbing Ardan Mór <br />From the shore of Sheelin lake, <br />I met the herons coming down <br />Before the water’s wake. <br /> <br />And they were talking in their flight <br />Of dreamy ways the herons go <br />When all the hills are withered up <br />Nor any waters flow.<br /><br />Francis Ledwidge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ardan-m-r/
