‘The Wintering’ By Randall Stephen Hall ©

(Written while listening to

“The Parting Glass.”)

I am a child of Ireland.

Who got left outside the steps

Of a really bad orphanage.

Where, for forty years or more

I believed the lie

That I was not a swan.

That I would never fly

And that I could never be

Irish.

That I did not belong

White or grey.

My feathers could never

Ever lift me away and above

My own shoreline

To see the green.

But finally I am he.

I am that swan

For today I shall fly

To spread my wings and sing

Out loud

That I am proud

Of who I am

And of my land.

My Ireland.

Where hand in hand

Each winter, we will shiver

And share the cold

Together.

To winter on the Sea of Moyle.

Each child an equal

In breath and sound.

But remember this.

A nation is not a label

A badge or a flag.

We drag ourselves up

The steep edge

Of our own mountains.

To free ourselves

Through bathing in

That one crystal fountain

Like babies in the one bath.

So be yourself today.

Be that swan.

You do belong.

Be yourself, the swan.