Moorehall – A poem

A house, but no longer a house,

a vacant shell, translucent;

left gaping to summer sun and all

a winter storm can throw at it.


Pillars, cut stone, chimney pots,

the only things left standing.

The home fires long burnt out

by hands of men unknown.


What left you here to decay?

Who left you here alone?

Nothing lives here now but bats and ivy.

The fog settles on the lake below.





My post today has been inspired by a walk around Moorehall, close to Lough Carra, in Co Mayo, as well as day 5 of the writing 201 poetry course ( The house seemed a fitting case for a elegy. I can imagine on a foggy day this place would seem very spooky. That is why I opted to use a black and white photo that I took.



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