Here, near the head of its estuary,
according to the whim of the moon,
the storied River Shannon flows fast or slow
past the namesake castle of King John the Loon.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.

Many, mostly Irish, have died here,
but wounds have been bound,
the dead have been buried.
Improbably, a peace was found.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.

Otherwise obscure King John is remembered
in legend as the nemesis of Robin Hood,
an honorable outlaw who robbed only the rich
to help the poor as well as he could.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.

To see the castle seized by deprived natives,
surely Robin Hood would have gloated
while surly King John raged and ranted.
Sadly, that bad king’s ego was royally bloated.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.

The Danes, the Normans, the English
who came to conquer are gone.
Today the invaders are mostly tourists,
mainly Americans, each armed with a smartphone.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.

On an uncommonly hot day in July,
I lie on a grassy slope
on the other side of the River Shannon,
my heart filled with love and hope.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.

Before I cross the bridge to join the assault,
a regal swan glides by in front of me
as if in memory of the fallen:
such serenity, such tranquility.
Although many have died here in ages past,
the sieges are over at last.