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THE NEST
the madrigal, volume i
helen jenks and tomás clancy
bánbh
by tomás clancy
I remember the bay,
Pale were the glimmers that galloped on wavering crests
that churned from the gloom of rumbling yonder.
Dissipating in a hollow froth on dull scree mounds
I was only there, in the bosom of my homestead.
borned anew on the Barna shore
I felt to be free, flimsy swaying in the swash.
Burning and frigid,
Trembling under foot tentatively marching to the maw
at that, most imprecise crucible
a clattering edge of torrents scathing
Swept me away in breathless cries, pulled up for release.
Saonta is the land
Where the shore groans wild, Pitying the naïve.
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