We tread on grass where Kings are buried
among cowslip flowers crowned above their tombs
on a passage from power to an eternity of song.
As a father flies a kite to his son’s delight,
Gaelic winds renew the mind at the Royal Seat
where a pillar calls the people to order.
The Lia Fail Stone inaugurates the King of Tara
and confirms the state of Ireland as we leave
on a narrow path of waving white yarrow flowers
To an America, whose Capitol of Democracy,
invaded by traitors and cunning prophets of fear
stealing the ear of the people with lies, slowly dies.
Here on the Hill of Tara the mythic sounds
of history call out from this cornerstone of truth
as the equinox moves the earth into a long night.