Memory of Dolores O Riodan

On the North hills of Ireland
Blooms the shrub of cranberries:
There is not lengthy highway,
Only nature, village and families.

There are roses and other flowers,
Where sea breaks mighty stones;
Beautiful lakes and high mountains
And Great Kings’ ancient bones.

And on the top of the mountain
Stands the young woman in blazer
And play her little matinee,
Sing the song quietly and lazy.

Under shadows of the timber
And cool of vastness like desire
Flows the song like slow river,
Sounds song on hills of Ireland.