An Daingean

I look out the window and the land expands before me.
This widened space of green grass is more emerald rich and verdant here
Than anywhere else on Earth.
Here the sky rolls down to meet the sea
And a cosmic hand stretches up from beneath,
Molding the landscape into cavernous valleys and forcing mossy peaks to just into the wild.

I look out the window and see the neatness of John Street
Stretching down through the town and up again,
Across the stream come down from the Pass
And curving round again to Dingle Town Hospital.
It disappears on its quest to Dunquin.

I see the relaxed busyness of Strand Street and the harbor,
The pubs and shops a-bustle with people,
The buildings painted brightly, all a different color.
Such a European town.
Such an Irish town.

I look to the south and hear the ringing of the church's bells
As they call the town to mass and conjure images of my school.
My school.
My school – alight with candles that seem to make the statues move.
A night is descending that has a will of its own.
This night will envelop my convent – my school – and prompt the monsignor to walk his hallowed halls.

I look out the window and it expands before me,
The whole of Dingle Town,
And my heart simply swells
For my love of home is great.