I built my dry-stone walls
In the garden, through the years:
Happy, heavy work,
The most gratifying of chores.
While the light of summer evenings
Turned stones to gold,
Bats and swallows swooped
Under Ned’s big sycamores.
But football on the lawn—
Our game of sweat and cheers—
Placed my walls in jeopardy.
Shots that went wide
Loosened wedges inside
The front wall’s hidden heart,
Like medieval weaponry.
A new song that I’ve written.
TESTAMENT
I lie awake and I’m pondering
Wondering
Where the money goes
I think of times I was following
Borrowing
The Emperor’s new clothes
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The road to God knows where ... Brendan O'Brien 