Slieve

Hope is the heather that grows on mountains of despair,

Sparse splotches of lively green and royal lavender,

Across the wide stripped grey of rocky graves.

It is not for the laymen on the paved busy paths,

Nor those high up who pay to fly on by with ease,

But those that seek struggle for existential masochism’s sake.

These tufty breaks from monotonous expanses of woe,

Quiver and shiver in the chilling altitude’s whisper,

Taunting with jeering whistles and drenching howls of loss.

But still they remain rooted and clinging by nature,

Against all odds, all time, all reason,

One day to blanket the range with inevitable colour.

#HI