page one
THE VISITORS
Late in June I caught up
with the crew, that trampled
over mountains and meadows;
drinking water from hip flasks,
wearing Doc Martins
or was it Wellington boots.
They took pictures of the setting sun,
munching cattle and meditating sheep.
wind blew from the west �
a brief spell of rain, but no other
excitement in their trip.
Their journey ended in the dusk
in a pub. The whole bunch,
the team leader and the rest -
all shaved, with clean shirts
and stone-washed jeans,
joined in with the local vicar.
We drank Guinness in the
Ballynahinch Inn. The colourful crew
passed on snapshots; laughingly joked,
and remembered the events
that happened over the terrain.
I sat and listened, and drank wine
with them, enjoyed the gags,
the puns the jokes,
to my hearts content.
At the end, when they said good bye,
the vicar blessed us all. He told stories,
how he, as a young man,
loved to scale the mountains
and climb up to the sky.
As we parted, we touched
our glasses and sang together,
wished them blue skies,
boot holds and fastened knots -
and the visitors departed forever.
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