The Islands of Aran Seen from the Moher Cliffs

The three whales of Aran Humped in the sun's teeth, Make tough bargain with the cuff And statement Of the sea. I stand on Moher, the cliffs Like coalvaults, see Aran In mourning thumped to losses By its season's neighbour. Aran like three black whales Humped on the water, With a whale's barricade Stares out the waves. Aran with its bleak gates locked, Its back to the traders, Aran the widower, Aran with no legs Distended in distance From the stone of Connemara's head, Aran without gain, pebbled In the fussing Atlantic.