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Irish Rain

by K. Kylyra Ameringer


Brown pine needle

Fish dart

Among the pebbles

In the cloudburst

Lake pooled

On the path

Our feet tread each day.

The hills march out

From a ghost land

Distant,

Camping

Emerald hard

In the ring

Around my fortress.

I'll set my sins outside

On the eroded rocks

To wash away

In the Irish rain.