AtLast_[07]

On twining streams of air Woven as were hair in braids Manx elude, in easy glide, Rocky faults which time pervades. Reflected from immortal stone

Weathered face of changeless stretch A skreigh of loss of sons and daughters A swash of wakes through billowed waters

Listen Listen Listen to the birdsong

Screeched so long so loud so strong Imprinted in the shells Which seed this beach of cruel departures What they disclaim the Manx dispells On ruah, blown to foreign shores, Reckoned diaspora gone, Lingered traces, Feathered graceless Some brace to winds which lend no choice. So gripped, press conch against the ear, Discern in waves of yesteryear, And there, Attend the Manx on westward flight Shrieking orphaned children's fright. Shrill of distrait souls, effaced. Ever sought in still small voice

Listen Listen Listen to the birdsong.

Wit - of frill - eschews it. Yet, it endures. Just open to it,