Fare thee well, my Irish plate

‘Twas for Corona,
for the peaceful dream this morning,
that you broke,
that I broke you
(I was still partly asleep) −

I have ridden the paths of my life
on the back of a dragon,
no compass to plot ahead,
                (though by the stars
                I can retrace my footsteps
                to the cradle I was born in).

Loyal to the day, for thirty-eight years
we had breakfast, lunch together

and as always the summer springs
to mind, when we met in Ballinspittle,
so glad
I forgot to bring a plate.

I am deeply honoured, grateful,
for all those years we had, though now
all you can do, for our herbs, is to
hold waters from the sky to drink from
(if ever we get rain again) −

we will no more break my fast together,
well have you earned
this quiet retirement.

God speed, my Irish plate.