A poem about the Wild Atlantic Way from warden beach, beside Knockalla.
The wild Atlantic Ocean thunders once again
Crashing on the rocks, like a boxer on his prey.
Sitting on the sand, I stare out at the abyss
Like O’Donnell and his men aboard their exile ship.
On the right I see Knockalla, towering like a king
Holding back the waves, as the Atlantic rolls in.
To my left I see Portsalon, a pier without a sound
The boats they lie empty, no fishermen around.
Many men have sat here, quietly staring at this sea
Dealing with their problems through the centuries.
To side with Dev or Collins; or to board the coffin ships
Or to take up arms with Tone to fight the bloody Brits.
The secrets of our country are hidden in these shores
Beneath the icy waters you can hear Cu Chulainn roar.
The Normans and the Vikings and the battles of our past
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