Isle Poem by Peter Swan

As an island you stand isolated
Yet connected at the core
An earthbound beacon
Attempting to calm the seas while
Tempestuous waves like spoilt brats
Toss jealous ships against shores
armed with craggy coastlines.
Your postcard greens, a coat to warm you
Your hills shaped from a potter’s wheel
Designed to deter melancholic lovers
Over amorous trying to steal you.
Occasionally they reach the Shannon lough
Only to be swept back by heavy rains
Into an oppressive sea of blue, while above
Battles rage and nations tumble
Then history finally tips you into the sea,
Where lovers wait to marry you