Long ago, in Glendalough,
Saint Kevin spent his days.
He lived alone in a house of stone,
his hands aloft in praise.
One misted morning without a warning
a blackbird fluttered down,
And in Kevin’s palm, steady and calm,
she laid an egg speckled brown.
Gentle Kevin, so near to Heaven,
could not bear to loose the egg,
So he did his best to become its nest
and move neither arm nor leg.
When the egg did crack and a bird in black
emerged and took to air,
Dear Kevin the saint, without a complaint,
returned to his life of prayer.