So this is Cork—
where the river bends like an elbow
leaning on the city’s bright, unruly heart,
and Shandon’s bells keep time
for stories still wet with rain.
So this is Cork—
a tangle of hills and streets,
where footsteps echo off old stone,
and the English Market hums
with the music of stalls
overflowing with colour and calling.
So this is Cork—
rebellious, red-bricked,
a place that greets you
with the wink of a pub door,
the warmth of a voice that rises
like a kettle on the boil.
So this is Cork—
city of bridges and breezes,
where gulls sketch circles overhead
and the Lee, in her calm authority,
reminds everyone
to slow down, to look up,
to belong.
So this is Cork—
a small city with a mighty swagger,
where every turn promises a tale,
and every tale knows your name.
Therapy Bits 
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