I stand on the Cliffs of Mohar,
Green emerald isle of the sea,
Hearing the ocean crash,
Beautiful notes on a Fend Strat.
She appears in my arms,
His face in the sky,
Celtic long darked haired prince,
Of rock royal blood,
Watching with warm blue eyes.
I hold her close,
I smell her polished wood,
Feel the stripped paint bear of sweat,blood and toil,
Carved out of hands of a great man.
I kiss her rosewood neck,
Touch the worn out strings,
She vanishes from my arms,
And rests in yours.
As I close my eyes
Visions of you playing,
Burning across the sky,
Heaven opens ,I see your smile.
She is home where she belongs,
Home to the one she loves,
Rory,Rory we chant,
Play, play, and play,
Sweet blues, sweet music from our Irish prince.
Subrata Saha ( copyright June 2016)
3.3.3.
