Filiocht

I live on an island.
She wonders where I’m standing;
She follows where I’m going,
She dwells where I’ve been.
She calls to my tomorrow;
She sings to my today,
She whispers to my yesterday.

O – to be there now,
Hand in hand with my fellow first-mates,
Bound for treasure; with shovels a’plough,
Through golden fields and salty lakes,
We would finger white crusty gems and dusty gold,
Before returning home, with tales to be told.

‘Twas a misty morn by candlelight,
Where porridge was warm on fire bright,
The table was set for the morning sun,
From which labour and farm work would be done.