Droving Poem by Matt Mooney

My flock of padding sheep I'm droving,
Driving down the bóithrín way;
Having drunken dip-day memories,
High on heat and crazing smells.
Seen the sheep at their immersion
For their annual cleansing swim,
Emerging wet and so insulted
At being thrown into the deep!
By the field of rock and fern-
By the Deer Park ambling by,
While the starlings all in harmony
Keep us company for a while.
Blackened chimney crocks on houses
Where my Galway neighbours live
Are a contrast to the Castle-
Roxboro's memory to the French:
Norman ruins, roofless, smokeless
And later past the red Grand Gate:
In that avenue lived Lady Gregory
In the days of the poet Yeats.
Outside the Cottage Grove is sitting
A cheeky rabbit chewing the cud,
While at the Cross of Iserkelly
A total stranger for us stood.