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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Folklore · #2246122
A lament for auld spirits
(32 lines)

Lost on Route 66

Irish eyes uprooted,
goodbye to hearth and home.
Sailing the Atlantic,
they didn't sail alone.

Banshees, ghosts, leprechauns,
and fairies from the dell.
Tales told in Irish Brogue,
these spirits came as well.

Stories live by telling
together by the fire.
Drink inflames auld Paddy,
rapt faces are inspired.

Time weakens Erin's ties
stretched thin across the miles.
Grand children carry on,
forget the Emerald Isle.

Change, the only constant,
sees generations churn.
Lilting brogues forgotten
the eerie tales unlearned.

Age dims eyes, voices fade,
mythic creatures dwindle.
Shrunken tablet habitat
deep inside a Kindle.

Now what of Erin's spirits
poured out on foreign shores,
bypassed by an interstate
of online culture wars?

Dying towns, locked hotels
along Route 66.
Banshees wait in graveyards
ghosts don't get their kicks.

Author's note:

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