A picture of dark Irish beauty,
She rose stunningly out of the sea,
As she squeezed the Atlantic from her tresses
The warm mist and the wet then found me.

She towelled herself but lightly,
Then stripped 'neath her tentlike cover,
To emerge in a simple black dress
Which clung just as close as a lover.

She wandered by sand and by rocks,
Ancient history and youth now combining,
Till the sound of a flurry of fiddlers
Turned our minds to wining and dining.

I sat warm with my chilled Chardonnay,
When the Irish Times told me the news
That the Tiger had finally been caged,
Then she passed with her soup and no shoes.

She sipped from a spoon Oh! so gently,
As she flicked a wet tress of her hair,
Her eyes met mine very briefly
But to her I just never was there.

The fiddlers they came and they went,
A wasp died in my dry Chardonnay,
Then Maura danced steps of a reel,
Till from Biddy's we started to stray.

The girl sat alone with her soup,
As she sipped and she dipped in her bread,
I took a last glance back behind me
At the girl with wet hair and black dress.

Joe Hughes visit joehughes.org.uk

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/glencolmcille-girl/