Bláth na bladhma,
a fhir na feidhme
ceart ár nádúir:
masla táille

sop na gcairde,
is súil
in airde
coiscthe,

ach, a chara,
os buí an t-eadra,
ná séan — ba bhréag! —
an fiach, an deargadh.

Unnecessary Lie

O man of action,
a red flower-flash
is what our natures demand:
a poor fee

friendship’s stalk
and hope
forbidden
but, friend,

since it’s late in the day
don’t deny —
it would be a lie! —
the hunt, the blush.

Today’s poem is from Aifric Mac Aodha’s new collection, Old Friends (Gallery Press)