Harolodstown Dolmen sits quite in a field,
Alone and uncared for adrift from the real,
From the life we consider so important, though rushed,
Yet it will be there when we’re gone, when we’re hushed.
Older than pyramids and older than sea,
Haroldstown Dolmen contained and yet free,
It’s neighbous are cattle, some sheep and a goat,
Blissfully unaware of its significant note.
It’s a place of sanctitude, a place to set free,
Your mind and your spirit, your heart and your chi,
To rest for a while away from the rush,
Of everyday life and of everyday fuss.
Some tourists do seek it out now and then,
Taking a photo or two then moving on again,
Perhaps one day it will be known far and near,
As the dolmen of sanctitude; a place so rare.