AN IRISH SUMMER

It was summer on the farm.

It started on a Tuesday morning

and lasted until the following Sunday,

six days of bright blue skies

and white fluffy clouds.

The sheep grazing in the meadow were glad now

that they’d had their coats shorn,

even though they’d grumbled at the cold.

The tin barn roof ticked and tocked

and screeched and settled in the blazing sun,

with the hay gathered safely in.

Farmer left the fire unlit and the door wide open,

with the light slanting in.

“You’d swear we were in the Bahamas” says he,

“sure it would do your heart good”.

Then, in the blink of an eye the rains came,

and it was over.

Another Irish summer gone.

copyright Roisin Duffy