Windharp
for Patrick Collins
The sounds of Ireland,
that restless whispering
you never get away
from, seeping out of
low bushes and grass,
heatherbells and fern,
wrinkling bog pools,
scraping tree branches,
light hunting cloud,
sound hounding sight,
a hand ceaselessly and stroking
the landscape, till
the valley gleams
like the pile upon
a mountain pony's coat.
_________________
John Montague
Collected Poems
Wake Forest, 1982
