Dead Trees of Coole Park
On a silent Sunday take me to Coole Park where the dead trees whisper
To where the people of letters sleep
Etched letter by letter, vandals of the word speak in this cemetery of autographs
Bone-cold
The air is silent and still awash with the copper beach ghosts
Their words scattered like seeds, fluttering to the far corners of the earth
Engraved
I see a heart stamped ‘forever with love’
And just like applause the rain falls kissing a wet smack on the tree of death
Until in the sun’s afterglow you can see the brightest star appear
And in that place and in my heart I see beauty
*Paula Jordan lives in Dublin, Ireland. She has re-discovered her love of
poetry.
Dead Trees of Coole Park was written from this image by John Smythe
