This inland-isle of Innisfree, for but a fee could be
A resting place of carefree dreams and rocky mountain streams
That bubble in-between a probable infinity
And down into the sacred river Alph, or so it seems,
But this is not for some: I see the waters tugging on the rocks
And wind against the leaves, but seeing these, think “why not me?”
And maybe soon that stream will carry me past inland lochs,
Those nine beanstalks, Past Alph, toward sunsets and the sublime sea,
And when I leave this Innisfree to wine-dark briny folds,
A wish will raft me, goodwill waft me wind to guide me home,
For here, I thrive, but my heart lies past these pastoral wolds,
So staying here but one more year, I may forever roam.
The clouds colliding show no sky above this troubled tide,
But even with the stars obscured, a friend’s a better guide.
~Michael Danger Caskey