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More poems by Patrick KavanaghPatrick Kavanagh | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (2) | Books by Patrick KavanaghBooks by Patrick Kavanagh

Shancoduff

Patrick Kavanagh

My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.

My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn
With a sheaf of hay for three perishing calves 
In the field under the Big Forth of Rocksavage.

The sleety winds fondle the rushy beards of Shancoduff
While the cattle-drovers sheltering in the Featherna Bush
Look up and say: ‘Who owns them hungry hills
That the water-hen and snipe must have forsaken?
A poet?  Then by heavens he must be poor.'
I hear and is my heart not badly shaken?


Submitted by Andrew Mayers

Added: 21 Jul 2002 | Last Read: 26 Apr 2018 3:56 AM | Viewed: 6013 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/5630/ | Viewed on 26 April 2018.
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