InisOirr

The harmonica sings a mournful tune as the sea goes out and the rock's blossoms sway in the breeze.
The stone stands firm against the waves;
it has taken a million years for her to yield to their power.
Tourists return with the tide,
but I linger for one more sad song.

If these seas were to open up and swallow me,
let it be known,
at this moment,
I am content.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

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