An neamhcheansaithe

Caidé’n dóigh a gceansofaí tusa?

Gaoth mhór thú a shéideann thar tír.

Sea, ach i súil do stoirme faighimse an tsuaimhneas

I gcroílár do chroí-isteach

Beirim ar do shéimhe.

Caidé mar a cheansofaí tú?

Nach tine samhraigh thú a ghlanann thar tír,

A dhóann roimh agus ina dhiaidh;

Dóann tú tú féin agus mise leat.

Ach ó luaith an talamh dhóite,

Tagann gais úra, plantaí seasmhacha,

A bheas, amach anseo, ag cigilt na spéire.

The untamed

How can you be tamed?

You’re a tornado that blows over the land.

Yes, but in the eye of your storm I find peace

In the heart of your embrace

I capture your serenity.

How can you be tamed?

Aren’t you a fire that sweeps through the land,

Burning all in its path?

You burn yourself and me.

But from the ashes of the seared land,

New stems appear; sturdy plants

that will, some day, tickle the sky.