Burnt as a moth to a flame am I to Eire’s name.

What a fool am I to
be burnt
again by Joyce’s
Sirens’ cries.

To the core
burnt am I
and to the
core of
unbridled hopes
have I let my hopes
burn dreams once so bright.

Held hope high
from another of my kind

Hope held high
from another of my kind

from one
unasked touch that
led to another
wanted more.

Dreams of Eire though now died
lie away on the shore
of Holyhead
and never will I
travel there again.

Burnt as a moth
to a flame am I to Eire’s name.
Browned wings limping away
unable to fly,
lost my right to when found that
my love was no love
of mine.

What a fool am I to
be burnt again by
Joyce’s Sirens’ cries.

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