Daffodils rising, raising yellow heads to bob in March winds.
Driving from Aberdeen across a Scottish Motorway,
Over the Irish sea in the belly of a ferry
South from Belfast and west from Dublin
West to Galway City and beyond,
Until the road narrows to to an end by the lake
Where grass still grows slow down the middle.
Driving with you, at my side
The miles go by and by.
Our journeys now more than mingle,
Our path is a path for two,
From a car stacked high with candles and plans
To the lights of ceremony and family and friends
Stand here, sign this, now, you may, you may,
Standing with you, at my side
The days go by and by
Pipes carrying oil along the North Sea floor,
Patients looking for that steadying hand
Steadfast, amid the Spring winds, winter frosts,
Rare sunburned summer days, autumn fruit,
A house within earshot of the Corrib when it gales,
The rise and fall of each wave on the shore,
Of each season on the soil,
Daffodils, fallen leaves,
Echos of those who passed on,
Become the path beneath out feet,
Resonate in the roots we weave.
Growing, with you, at my side,
From Portacarron shore to where we roam
When you are at my side, I’m home.
