Ireland

One day we will visit Ireland, the land of my ancestors where they carve little figures of pigs out of a thing called connamara marble And where I climbed when I was eight, the castle ruins and saw my great grandparents headstones in the old cemeteries of Kerry. I never remember seeing in Dublin the statue made of Oscar Wilde Though knowing who he is now, I would take more time to see his likeness in fired metal. The man who gave his life to everything, when it caused him to suffer equally. The equal to any contemporary theologian, I am bound to read his essays on life again. The irish breakfasts and the gatherings with family for Wren Night. Past memories, traditions that went into the ground with my grandparents when they were buried. I wish to be revived