By Saoirse Pira
On the bank of the river in
early October, I fall fast
and in love with Living.
It is a prayer–
when I fall to my knees
in the grass, when
the trees dance in the wind,
and the woods sound like waves.
I pray there for plenty. For
so much sun, for something to love
like the bank loves the bluebells
and the water-mint. To care because
I can, to love because I must.
When I die, as I know I will–
let it be here, let it be
like this. With the wind in
the trees and the dance like the
waves. Let it be kind.
I can only be as gentle as
A prayer on my knees by the river.