'An tOcras Mór' The Great Hunger.

Dedication

"...the man with the hat worked, considering in turn the four points of the sky and then regretfully plunged his spade in the earth."--Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

To shame us you're digging

clearing tangled regret,

crusted sentiment,

continuing a homage

in onerous clay.

Downward now digging

for truth and justice

among stony soil,

searching to locate

some staple root.

Hours bent tilling,

groping to find

some potent relic,

yielding to mind

validation and light.

Empty spade toning,

filtering the past

from chaotic clods,

hands blistered

from arduous toil.

The fingers numb

cleaving with spade,

propelled, a motion

persisting to delve

past all deception.

Above, stars gleaming

enriching the grasp,

pristine examples

soothing to limbs

coated in grime.

Eternity revealing,

plunging this vision

to a recondite core,

tapping dirt exchanges

wonder to work.

You shame us, compelling

us who rest striken,

shallow and broken

bitter, ashamed,

to resume our work.

`nice bit of work