Ana of Inisoirr

At the top of the craggy hill,
inside of the stone walled gate,
is a small patch of Irish green,
a few wooden picnic tables,
with heavy stones in their centers
to keep the ever blowing wind
from sailing the menus up and across the burren
and out over the wild Atlantic sea,
and blue aproned Ana,
who serves the best fish chowder
Herself has ever tasted.

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