As Autumn Cyclamen splash purple amongst the summer’s fallen leaves in the shadows of a chestnut tree, I hear sad news .

Autumnal Cyclamen

The man of liberated multi-colored words died today.

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He painted feelings into cloudy sky, words you or I would leave behind in the dirty ditch of life.

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He brought words back to life in landscapes of time and memory.

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He read his own work like no other.

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His words provoked unique sound to his ear, words flowed into memories that entwined flavors of our own imagined making.

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He found universal memories of Ireland in words of depth and breadth to an unsung feeling that we grasped and found tangible once again.

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Fly up

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Fly free

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To those “full-starred heavens” above your Wicklow Hills

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I look up to our loss, the composer of words that sang to our souls.

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With his Mother’s love whispered in our ears, “Teach me now to listen”.

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