To the baaahs of my flock I wake,
For there is sun for my soul to take.
A crack of the knee, a pop of the hip,
I am up and ready to take my long-awaited trip.
Where am I going you may ask?
Well there is a most important task.
For today I discover,
What all this talk is over.
I have heard tourists and locals alike,
Talking about a place where monks used to hike.
An island located at the edge of the world,
For only a few lucky souls to hold.
A sanctuary for birds and animals with fins,
Among puffins, garnetts, and dolphins.
Even home to a monastery,
Where men grew to be wise and hairy.
But what about the alleged green gold,
That blankets the rocks that are so old?
Oh I hear that’s where the grass is the finest,
On this island where blades grow the highest.
Today is the day
Where I will finally make my way
To the Skellig Michael
My tower of Eiffel.
To taste the grass of this island, I couldn’t be keener
But I hope my shepherd won’t give me a misdemeanor.
For I am sneaking out,
And nothing can stop me, not even a clout!
Over the fence and through the woods
I am coming for the goods.
I’ll have to blend into sheep “rush-hour”
For these Irish roads don’t just facilitate horsepower.
As the morning dew begins to dwindle,
I pass by many a folk on their kindle.
Coffee supping, bread baking
I smell a wonderful day in the making
Tottling down the main street of Port Maggee,
I soon realize this is definitely the place to be.
Fresh fish flowing a plenty,
To appreciate this takes no cognoscenti!
A camera flash here and a camera flash there,
Is there something in my hair?
Maybe it’s my stripes of blue,
Or they all know what I am about to do!
I feel like a celebrity here,
Star Wars stay clear!
Wooly sheep coming through,
I have some grass to chew.
I strut across the dock,
With a new found confidence in my walk.
And so I stroll right up to the boatman,
And tell him all about my wonderful plan.
“No 4-legged animals allowed”
The burly Irishman said aloud.
“Baaaht no sir you don’t understand,
I have left everything behind for this island.”
“No can do, my wooly friend,
Your journey has come to an end.”
Tail tucked in, head down
I putter away, I’ve lost my crown.
Maybe I am just a dreamer.
The grass isn’t always greener.
I crumple myself onto the only patch of grass in sight,
A ball of emotions, overwhelmed by contrite.
Several hours later…..
“Wake up wooly sheep, time to wake!”
“Huh, who’s there?” A small figure is all I could make.
“Shake the sadness out of your wool,
You are being a fool!”
“A fool?” I croak.
“Just come with me” he said as I finally awoke.
“Are you the grass-fairy, we all dream about?!”
“No time for questions! We must leave while the sun is out.”
I jump to a stand,
For I am going to the magical land!
And as we venture out to sea,
It begins get a bit gusty.
Waves taller than trees,
I am brought down to my knees.
But no sooner, do I realize,
Skellig Michael is before my eyes.
715 ft of jagged rock, covered in green gold.
Is all this grass mine to hold?
The best part of it all,
Is that it’s not only my call.
What was once home to the ancient Celts,
Is now a sanctuary for everyone else!
I can’t help but get a little sappy,
For this island will leave you feeling wild and happy.
Thanks for listening to my story,
But now it’s your turn to see Skellig Michael and all its glory.
Just take a minute to appreciate that green gold,
For it’s the reason I have this story to unfold.