He and She still stand wrapt in each other
Oblivious to the dark face in the stillness.
A barely perceptible sensuality amongst
The twisted branches of Solitude. Even the
Falling leaves cannot break this trance...
A still turning Dance at that Old Point, and
Malevolent eyes still regard these oh-so
Static Calender. No matter the Season or
Clime, still they return to this Sacred Place.
Standing not far from the arched bridge...
And this vision you caught with your hands,
This Vision, you placed in immortality. So
This fixed image heightens the fixity of these
Static Ones, fixes the Time, fixes the Place,
Presses the Season as a leaf is pressed
Between the Leaves in a book...
Thomas Ó Gamhna