Frank Corcoran

irish composer


Dance in the winter Autumn leaves just now falling Their life’s nearly spent

Dancing, yes, dying, Who shall separate these leaves From their naked trees?

Leaves, after golden days, Their long day’s journey dying. How they’re spiralling.

Shimmering, Dancing. This is their last Autumn day . (They’re like my bank-notes)

If you only knew / That those dancing, golden leaves Now have had their chance…

á, duilleoga ag damhsa
dá mbeadh a fhios agaibh
. . . dá mbeadh

Posted under: Humble Hamburg Musings

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