“The Land knows you, even when you are lost”

Does my homeland know me?

Child of the Gael

In my tattered, fading cloak, fatigued

Without the language the land gave us

Does the grass recognize me

as one of its own?

 

A child uprooted

From the sycamore and the chestnut

From the willow and the linden

From the long, deep alleys of  winters

From the brick, the slate, and the chimney

 

The land of my home knows me

A child of the Gael

In my tattered, fading cloak, fatigued

Without the language the land gave us

The grass recognizes me

as one of its own