Errigal

I am ancient old, my friend, 

and now there is no one to watch me no 

more, 

I am older than the great grandmother, 

and even her grandmother of the Cailleach 

Béara. 

I was there from the very beginning, 

majestic, white-capped, stately, aslant. 

As ancient as the stars, 

I was both the start and finish of the stories, 

Tussling with the clouds. 

I froze through the ages, 

but I rose, and have since been here for 

years, 

I am the eastern stairway to the rising sun, 

a bald head to the strongest rain. 

Afterwards, they named me Errigal, 

They, the coloured folk or clan 

who came up from the warm places, 

in the distant past when settled time began. 

They made me a Goddess then, 

according to my form and feature. 

I was there with them during that time, 

their favourite mountain creature

sharing my soul's peace in the fog, 

shedding light after the clamour and crime. 

I will perish, through, man's own hand, 

my destiny now to shrink and die, 

As is the case all over all our land, 

hills and mountains, beaches and seas, 

singing birds, flowers trees 

and finally man on his knees.