Magenta City/ St Ronan and the Song-Thrush/ St Ronan’s Day
i.m. Seamus Heaney
d. St Ronan’s Day 2013

The Big Man is gone
who hollowed out space
for us to scribble in
who said ‘the pen
is mightier than the spade’

whose slow smile Ireland
evoked, solid like the land
grateful for rain, louring mountain
and we waking
to a colder day.

Irony bent to a clatter
of hooves at noon.
Kind Derry lyre.
Sing him, keen.

The city wears purple now.
Long of him, long his.
As he passes into the halls
a hush, while the great swell
of his words rises, ripples,

breaks, speaks
for him, and more.
May his priestly Maker soul mist
and gambol with mirth.
The clock ticks for song, for us.

poem by Geraldine Clarkson, copyright 2013
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