Apologies to W B Yeats
70. 28 August 2021
I cannot arise and go now, much less to Innisfree,
Nor a small cabin build there of clay and wattles laid:
Maybe a tent or a caravan or a nice Airbnb,
And I’d be alone in the quiet glade.
*
And I would have some peace there, if I turn my phone off first,
And my laptop and my tablet, though I must keep track of things:
There’s a funny noise in the grass and the hills are green at worst
And the dusk empty of small birds’ wings.
*
I will bloody go there for always night and day,
I hear lake water lapping on the chalets by the shore.
I don’t know what I long for, but on the pavements grey,
I hear it ever in my deep heart’s core.
*
PS Please read the original poem by W B Yeats “The Lake Isle of Innisfree.” I am so happy that, to judge from the picture, the original island on Lough Gill, Ireland, is still untouched!
