An American in Galway City, Ireland

It’s been 200 yearsyou’ve clearly forgotten me,but you appear to remembermy name.

I have returned to see you,reliving the olden times:I’m a Yankee exile,staring into shop windows.

Please welcome me home aftermy long journey back to theland that was once mineas much it is still yours

Three damp days,wandering in cobblestone streetsbuskers sang “Red is the Rose,”forcing me to cry

Weeping in Octoberwith her on my side,seeking tea in Galway cityshe didn’t notice my sighs.

I’ve been gone for 200 yearsyou’ve clearly forgotten me,but you appear to remembermy name.

Rocky roadsold town stone walls,smelling the turfO’Farrell lettered above a door.

The donkey knows the way:to a battered Norman Towerwhere a monkish manuscriptprovides a lost clue.

Passport identifieswhile the green earthsignifies somethingmore than birth.

Not asking for muchnot even a Gaelic greetingperhaps a nod acknowledgingthe wandering Celt’s return.

I’ve been gone for 200 yearsYou’ve clearly forgotten me,but you appear to remembermy name.