Poetry

Model Railways

On a shelf of pine and gentle light, A miniature world takes shape each night— Where tin‑plate rails hum in steady beat, And tiny locomotives find their street. Points swing open like

Booth

In the rain‑slicked corner of the high street, A red telephone booth stands, stoic and neat, Its glass panes misted with breath of the past, Where whispers of love and farewells have lasted.

Dundela

Dundela where the terraced rows breathe a quiet pride, red‑brick facades lining avenues that hum with the soft clatter of tram‑wheels on rain‑slicked cobbles. Here the echo of children’s laughter spills from schoolyard

Legal

In quiet chambers where the gavel sighs, The law unfolds—its words a measured tide, Each clause a thread in justice’ woven ties, Where truth and reason stand side by side. From barrister’s

Hibernian

Hibernian Dawn In mist‑cloaked glens where shamrocks sway, The emerald hills recall the day When Celtic hymns rose soft and low, A hymn of stone and heather’s glow. From Galway’s rugged, rain‑kissed coast To Dublin’s streets

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