MAYO IN JULY
In Mayo, July is often like November:
Dark Clouds all day obliterate the sun;
A storm marauds across the uncut meadows,
And the mood of every living thing is glum.
The rain falls down in solid sheets of water;
The rivers and the streams are all in flood;
The turf we cut washed back into the bog, sir,
And the soggy cows are ankle deep in mud.
In the pub the farmers talk about the weather,
As they lower pint after pint after pint of beer.
There’s nothing else to do, but come together
And drink, as they wait in vain for the rain to clear.
Visitors there are coaxed, cajoled and led
To drink all night and spend the day in bed.
- Proinnsias Ó Cillín
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