Here at home,

I bury my nose in the itchy cardigan

because it costs nothing to smell.

To smell green. How green?

As green as the Aer Lingus billboard,

from Hartford to Donegal, it says,

I see it on my way to work, on the highway,

calling me

from my green to that green,

to smell sheep,

to smell meadow

to smell peat. Is it peat, I smell?

I bury my nose in the wool,

who wouldn’t? Baa, baa,

somewhere a sheep with a brogue

calls me, baa baa,

It cost nothing to smell.