Autumn Trip Poem by Michael Pruchnicki

When trees unleave
we take to the road
that leads to Macumera
high in the hills
far from the city
in the plains below.

We dance and sing
in the moonlight.

The next morning
mail carriers in gray tunics
toting bags of gifts
climb the steep streets
of Macumera.

They offer us one and all
gifts and keepsakes
from the cloistered nuns
at Roscommon in Clare.

'Take this blood-red rose
and tiny gallows from
Our Lady's Asylum
at Roscommon
in County Clare! '