Slievenamon Poem by Martin Moore

SLIEVENAMON
In natures bleak brush strokes entwine
Autumnal mediocrity
The tone and tint of years decline
A gilded luminosity
The verdant splash of spring was drawn
And summers splendid store
From the cloud capped crest of Slievenamon
To the purple valley floor
The violet tones of heather sprigs
That spring from darkened moor
Golden leaves on broken twigs
The mountains deep allure
Orange lichened monoliths of stone
Reveal themselves again
As earth is skinned to winter bones
And skeletal remains
A season in senescent choke
What beauty does bequeath
In casting off its transient cloak
And outing its secret beneath.