The Cliffs of Moher are located at the southwestern edge of the Burren region in County Clare, Ireland They rise from 390 to 702 ft above the Atlantic Ocean and receive almost one million visitors a year. The poem addresses the uncanny urge to jump off which many of us experience when we encounter a high place.
A man walks on the edge of the world,
Along the cliffs of Moher,
Poised between land and ocean.
A wild bewitching place.
The wind whispers in his ears.
The waters roar for his attention.
Looking down he sees,
The sea swelling and shrinking,
Nursing and caressing the rocks,
Crowning them with white halos.
And he casts a stone,
Falling, down, down, down,
Down into the secret emerald under the sea,
To disappear forever.
Quickly, he averts his eye,
To see the cliffs and sky.
Lethal, black, rugged cliffs,
Obstacles menacing, unclimbed.
And he continues along the edge,
His feet on springy sea grass,
He smells cattle in fields.
But still the sea beckons with a moan.
So, mesmerized, he turns his eye,
Down again to the waves below.
And then, he, following his gaze,
Falls like a stone, down, down,
Down off the edge of his world,