From a drawing by Joan Costello
The Echo Gate
My love affair with the echo gate began
Long before time and circumstances
Had robbed me of my innocence
Before some well meaning friends
Had explained the mystery behind the voice
Which sounded so uncannily like my own
”It’s not a leprechaun or an ogre,” they said
“it’s just your own voice bouncing of the abbey walls
For me, the revelation was devastating
Yet not enough to completely destroy
My fascination with this loquacious landmark
Even to this day I could never see myself
Walking past with stopping to test the echo
At least say “Hello”
Nor did the echo ever fail indeed
The cross talk could go on for hours
Yet I never seemed to get the last word, still
It’s a way of life in these parts
A custom that has outlasted
Grander and nobler devotions
A ritual rooted in childhood myths and legends
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