Fifteen
is the number
that comes back, a dozen times
plus three.
Fifteen times
she ran away
then came back home to me.
I begged her, please consider,
reconsider, please be clever:
would she ever?
Nope. Not once.
Now it's sixteen
and I know that I shall never
see her again ...
macushla, macushla, mo chroí
mo léan géar, an caoine!
But now and then,
it's not so bad.
I feel strangely glad.
For the first time
I feel free.
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An puisín ban - the little white kitten
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