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Ireland, Snippets of History – County Wicklow.

whooper-swans-
Whooper Swans

Aside of the beauty and incredible ‘greenness’ of Ireland, there is the matter of its’ prolific and fascinating history.

Today, we’ll make a wee journey through, not only recent, but also ancient history relating to an area, and more specifically an Irish village in County Wicklow.

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A Tailor’s Shoppe

Per chance, there was a day, when as I went, I espied, that there were a tailor’s shoppe along the way.

Surely, I cried, this is the place that I should seek, to have those changes to my attire that I wish to make.

Yet, many a day did go by, that I passed that way and woe, remembered that my cloth at castle remained.

One day, I determined, on seeing the tailor’s shoppe, that I would return to my castle and collect my cloth, then to present my cloth to the tailor for repair.

So it is that I went into the tailor’s shoppe, with some foreboding for that which I should find.

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Trail of Wilderness

Medieval Prose by sirpeterjames.com

Youth in Wilderness

Along the trail of wilderness wandered I ,my heart did cry, who am, I who am I?

Yet no reply, no reply came to my reporte. Yet did the wind call in its flight yonder.

Is this the voice I seek, the voice of my thoughtse? Nay, surely not; the wind is but a knave seeking willful sporte.

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A Tailor’s Shoppe

 

Tailors Shoppe

 

Per chance, there was a day, when as I went, I espied, that there were a tailor’s shoppe along the waye.

Surely, I cried, this is the place that I should seek, to have those changes to my attire that I wish to make.

Continue reading A Tailor’s Shoppe

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A Tailor’s Shoppe

Butterfly 4

The butterfly greeted the caterpillar, “Come let us fly”, warily the caterpillar replied, “Alas, I cannot fly, for I am a caterpillar”. “Hast a caterpillar wings”? The butterfly mocked. ”Of a truth you are no longer a caterpillar, but rather a butterfly. Come, let us fly…”

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The Layde Scarlett

The Layde Scarlett – A poem by Sir Peter James dotcom

Scarlet, fairest of all maidens, that I perchance have set eyes upon. Within whose breasts beats a heart of care and tenderness

Whose warm eyes have called out the cold sorrow from within my heart, to an embrace so inviting, that my fears were pulled from the flames of anger burning within me. Fears who knew their berthing in my innermost, since I were in my mother’s womb. Drawing my heart to a place of calm waters and shady trees. Where my soul was stilled and my heart filled with peace and joy; a place where sorrows’ no longer reign.

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