Leanamar ar aghaidh
In ainneoin chogar na gcomharsan—
Fágadh le torthaí sinn
Nach slogfadh an mhuc.

Ach fuaireamar amach
Go raibh feidhm amháin leosan—
Mharaíodar na préacháin
A d’itheadh an t-arbhar.

Maisiúcháin macabre
Ba ea a gcoirp:
Seoda cuairteora
Ar fud an úlloird.


Apples

We did it anyway
In spite of whispers—
The fruit we picked
Wasn’t fit for pigs.

Then we learned that
Everything has its use—
The corn was safe
And the crows poisoned.

Their corpses
Strung their own pattern—
Sapphires for passers-by
Underneath the apple trees.

–Translated from the Irish by Martin Howard