The Muckish Mountain Irish dune,

it holds the day in wetted wick,

And steals the night, a glassy rune.

With rocky hill and morning stick. 

The Muckish Mountain Irish dune,

It leaves the day, a static loon,

A virgin nun at ninety nine,

She left behind her need to wine.

For love of life, the future rune,

her love of strife in windy boon.

The Muckish Mountain Irish dune,

She stands a taller lady life

in all her pain and stagnant strife.

But there she’ll stand and there she’ll stay

This Lucky Muckish maid she’ll sway.

She loves to live and loves to swoon,

This Muckish Mountain Irish dune.