Two places only
 there were:
 here and America.
 The four corners of the farm,
 and gone-beyond-the-sea.

With a twopenny nail
 he etched into the iron
 shank of his spade
 the word 'Destiny',
 drove it with his boot smartly into the turf
 and left it standing.

Abroad commenced
 at the town line.
 The New World blinded him
 on the Navan road
 and again the first time he tried to speak English
 and again the first time he saw an orange.

Anaesthetized by reels and barrels of porter
 and eight renditions of 'The Parting Glass',
 he fell asleep to the groan of oars
 and awoke to a diesel thrust
 and sleet over mountainous seas.

--Richard Tillinghast