‘The Dream Of An Exile’
© Joe Canning 2016. All Rights Reserved.
If I had the wings of an Eagle,
to the land of my birth I would fly,
I’d glide on the winds o’er Atlantic,
and soar through that Donegal sky.
I’d swoop o’er the great Bloody Foreland,
Inishboffin, Meenaclady, Gweedore,
I’d rest on the rocks near Falcarragh,
in that place that the old folks called home.
If I had the wings of a Swallow,
my wings they would carry me high,
o’er beautiful old Cloghaneely,
Lough Altan and Errigal high.
I would sit on the turrets of Glenveagh
see the fox in the heather at play,
then on to the Glen of Dunlewy,
at the dawn of a Donegal day.
If I had the wings of a sparrow,
I’d speed o’er the land in my joy,
I’d bathe in cool Loughanure rock pools,
then onward to Dungloe I’d fly,
The Blue Stacks, the Frosses and Milltown,
would hear the sweet sound of my song,
Old songs I would sing if I only had wings
on a rapturous, sweet Irish morn.
I’d rest for a while on my journey
sleep in the shade of the tree,
I’d rest till the birdsong of morning
then northward I’d fly to Dún Rí,
I’d savour my jewel of a county,
what joy in my heart I would feel,
Oh how for the wings of an Eagle,
of a Swallow or Sparrow, I dream.
Photo: An Eachla Mhor and Loch Altan, Co Donegal