Rose of Tralee   So make what you will of our trip together, twenty-odd years ago — was that me, the one you ran to, the one you’d said till death   to? Was that you on the Cliffs of Moher, girleen once again, professor of whether or not, child bride? Was that the door   to the tower in Galway, did we see your spectral aunties in Armagh before they all vanished like the rose of Tralee?     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont October 2019