I Chant Her Name

Through the wind I call, a curtain takes her toll,
My eyes fall to the ground she walks,
Amazed the place we seek so close.
She chose the high road, a fair road,
Nobody knows how fair she goes,
But I chant her name to the sun,
I chant her name to everyone,
And anyone who listens replies,
The diamonds in her eyes fair thrown,
No one will ever chant the same,
I chant her name for her, and for me,
Free me, be me, hear me out my praise,
I’ll chant her name again. I’ll chant again.
Hare is the word I call, Hare I call.
Let her be a fair traveller. Let her be.
As all must be for her fair name.
For all must be one and the same.

Eoghan Lyng is an Irish man, who has written from Cork, Madrid and Prague. Currently residing in Glasgow, Lyng continues to refine his work. Aided with the ability to write in English and Gaeilge, examples of his work have been published in Vada Magazine, From The LightHouse, An Gael-IrisLeabhar Idirnaisiúnta and his eponymous wordpress account.