Misdirected Dream

narrative poetry

Misdirected dream.

 

How strange it seems when I recall.

A holiday in Ireland.

I spent a night in Donegal.

 

I chose to park my camper van

Just off the road beside a stream

So I could fill my billycan.

 

I lit the stove and brewed some tea.

As I prepared my evening meal.

I felt the night enclosing me.

 

The only sound the singing stream

Which served me as a lullaby.

I fell headlong into a dream.

 

Of Ireland as it used to be.

When it was ruled by petty kings.

A journey back through history.

 

I do not know why fate chose me

To transport back into the past.

But I remember vividly.

 

The dream I dreamt in Donegal

Though many, many years have passed.

The memories don’t fade at all.

 

Was it a dream or did I go

Back into the distant past.

I cannot say I do not know.

 

Although I have a theory.

Which just might possibly be true.

The dream I dreamt was not for me.

 

It should have been an Irishman.

Who journeyed back into the past.

But things don’t always go to plan.

 

Which seems to prove definitely

That even fate is not immune

To accidents occasionally.

 

Monday, 28 January 2013

Reviews

[Leslie Philibert]

Many years ago I visited Donegal. Loved it, and I like your poem.