Sheelagh na Gig

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We look up to her,

her ring-fort eyes,

her little slippy shoulders,

her nose incised and flat,

and feel light-headed looking up.

She is twig-boned, saddle-sexed,

grown up, grown ordinary,

seeming to say,

'Yes, look at me to your heart's content

but look at every other thing.'

And here is a leaper in a kilt, two figures kissing,

a mouth with sprigs,

a running hart, two fishes,

a damaged beast with an instrument.