In the lake next to me lives a plesiosaur
Which I always thought sounded like the name of a Gaeilgeoir
You might meet up in Donegal near Grianán of Aileach, the fort
I’m going to walk the frigid shore, planning on sailing North
No stopping until Hyperborea, and Aquilonian resorts
Take my hide-shored boat deep into tides, below which armadas lie
All the bones of all who died ground to glass, with no more pride;
A pack of clawless toothless lions kept inside by some rich guy in Dubai.
Alchemisland 
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