By nettles and tall grasses
I crouched down at the well,
filling a neat arrangement
of bottles with clear water,

pouring it then into jam jars,
churning it, splashing it, gargling it,
gurgling it back into the well
I drenched another pair of breeches.

Watching the shadows dancing,
flirting across the surface,
reflections cold and shivering
glancing off the skywashed depth

and in moments of stillness
grasses shifting in a breeze
little fingers of light
touching stones on the bottom.

© Liam Ryan

Her tresses
long and shining
slid to the floor
where they lay discarded
like strands of precious gold.
The scissors paused,
still for a moment,
glittered in the light,
flashed, snipped
and danced with deft movement-
a duet with the comb.
It re-arranged and shaped,
transformed and matured
the young face
in the mirror
as her childhood
fell to the ground.
Her father sighed
for the loss of his child.
He took a lock of hair to remind him.

© Margaret Cotter