My eyes were empty
until the west wind found me,
to cry its song of sorrow,
to run its rain down my cheek.
I was stood upon the knoll
on top of Cnoc na Croiche
when I lost my emptiness,
and found kinship in the meek.
Beneath my feet
squirmed the souls of the forgotten;
the mistaken, the mistreated,
some wrongly labeled 'witch'.
Some stole to feed their children.
Others fought for their convictions.
Some resisted. Some hung bravely.
Does it matter which is which?
When this wind dies,
I’m going to light a candle
to help send some light
back through the darkness of time.
May I learn the wisdom
without carrying the burdens.
Most of all, may Cnoc na Croiche
be forgiven for its crimes.
Even the guilty
who will walk this world among us,
somewhere in their history
something precious was destroyed.
Look at me…
I was once a prisoner!
Is that why I feel compassion
for the souls at Cnoc na Croiche?
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