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Mya McMillan

I take Irish dancing, and this is a description of how I feel about it. Why don't you check out my page on Irish dancing? This poem is copyrighted 1999 by me.

Brown rocky cliffs that plunge into the sea
Green hills, green trees
All green
On the Emerald Isle
But where is the Ireland the tales speak of?
It is gone; torn in two by war and strife
Oh Ireland, Ireland, what has happened to you?
But one remnant of your glorious past remains
So I embrace that remnant

The flute sounds; a merry little jig
And swells and swells 'til it fills the sky
And I wait for the signal
Then, without warning, the time arrives
And the next moment everything vanishes from conciousness
As I hear only the music
Feel only the floor beneath my feet
Skipping, jumping, leaping
The earth falls away; gravity dies
I am no longer earth-bound!
My heart thuds to the rhythm
It pulses in my very being
I am as light as a feather
I am a faerie!
I seem to float
Dancing, dancing
My feet playing a pattern upon the floor
Footwork far too intricate to speak of with words
I end
I bow
I wait
For the next dance

It is during those magical moments
During the dance
That I feel the pulse
Of the Motherland
And everything is all right

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This page was last updated November 2, 1999.
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