Ancient spirit calls

By the lough I sit has a tear inches down and falls to the ancient ground. A tear for a jewel lost long ago, sister you can never be replaced. Looking through the reeds a mist rises from the water. Shooting forward it grips me like a heavy hand . I breath in the white mist and an ancient voice echoes in my head. Warmth fills my heart, rising to my feet I walk down to the still waters. Slowly I walk into the mist ,waters fill my person and I pass into the arms of the pass, present and future . There before me stands the jewel lost to me long ago, I reach to touch her. My hand touches her hand and I awake standing on the lough shore. A small stone in my hand, older than man . Echoes ring, you cannot touch the pass but it can touch you.

Go raibh maith agat