Loop Head March 2006

Down the nave of hard-clung moss,
We stepped in awe of Nature’s church,
Fearful lest we should besmirch
The grandeur of the one true Cross.
We gazed upon the vaulted sky,
Meticulous in white and grey,
A charcoaled dome ‘neath which to pray
To those that make the mountains cry.
And as we crossed the fissured toe,
A choir of seagulls circled round,
Augmented by the crashing sound
Of waves upon the cliff below.
Great hallelujahs harsh and shrill
Soared skyward in a wall of praise,
And set the winter sky ablaze,
Like beacons burning on a hill.
And to our right, a cleft of rock,
Hewn wildly by a giant’s axe
Withstood the ocean’s fierce attacks,
A calm, untroubled monadnock.
And in this chapel, barred from man,
Great gannets perched on narrow ledge
And mocked us as we neared the edge,
As only true believers can.
And suddenly, it all felt wrong,
Like heathens at the Ka’ba stone,
We felt so utterly alone,
Amid the bleak, unrhythmic song.
And thus we turned and hurried back
Beyond the lonely light-topped tower
Away from that majestic power,
Back to the winding tarmacked track.