In Donegal

And out along the sandy shore
A sudden rain-storm starts to pour
On breakers where they roll and roar
In Donegal.

And in the lane where fuchsias hang
Is heard the farmer’s bucket’s clang
And wooden doors that blow and bang
In Donegal.

And in the cottage, smells compete:
The saucepan where they’re cooking meat:
The fire slowly burning peat
In Donegal.

So when in traffic jams I crawl
And see graffiti on the wall
I hear again the wind’s voice call
In Donegal.