Eyes Of The Glen Poem by Matt Mooney

One night we slept in Gledalough
Above the Abhainn Mhór river:
Its mountain waters wild and brown
From Parnell's place in Avondale
To Moore's Avoca winding ever.

The little fields climbed up the glen
Embroidered with sheep and lambs;
Deep down below a constant flow
That sounds around the river rocks.

Stepping stones to a trodden path
In the shade of the Wicklow woods
To walk to Saint Kevin's holy lakes
Each a glimmer in the eyes of God.

Calm lakes to quench a thirsty spirit,
Great shining sloes with silver souls;
On the shore a priest was speaking
Of hermits and of peace and healing.