Keeper of Rún

by Pat Fitzgerald, posted in Poetry

Introduction to Keeper of Rún

Walk an old country road in Ireland, and you will meet them: gates patched and pieced together with twisted wire, rough timber and rusted iron – mended not for show, but because they matter. They have stood through storm and sunshine, leaned on by cattle, climbed by children, held open for lovers hurrying through the dusk. They are never grand, never celebrated… Yet they see everything, and tells nothing.

This poem speaks in the quiet voice of one such gate. It is not a judge, not a teacher, not a storyteller who shouts it’s truths. It is simply a keeper: of the soft splash of sruthán at it’s hinge, the shade of the sycamore, a gentle trust of an old horse leaning over its rail. Most of all, it holds the rún – the secrets, the quiet loves, the half-spoken words – that people leave there, safe under its weathered beam.

In a world that is always rushing to say everything, this gate reminds us how much beauty lives in silence. How trust is kept not by repeating what we know, but by guarding what is given to us. How the land does not forget – and how it keeps our memories, even when we have lone gone.

We do not inherit the land from those who came before us.

We borrow it from those who will one day walk it after us.

Glossary

Sruthán (SROO-hawn) — small stream, brook

Crúb (KROOB) — hoof

Rún (ROON) — secret, hidden truth, cherished confidence

Ciúnas (KYOO-nas) — deep, gentle stillness; a quiet filled with life

A horse standing by a stone wall next to a country road at sunset.
A quiet country road at sunset with a horse by a stone wall.
Keeper of Rún




I am stitched with wire, scarred by nail,
iron-bound to oak that would not fail;
twisted fast where winter storms pulled free,
mended strong for all the world to see.



My hinge creaks low beside the sruthán,
where water winds through fern and sun;
beyond my rails the sycamore stands,
and one old horse leans soft and slow,
his light crúb tapping clover below,
watching who comes, and who may go.



I've felt the rush of leap and bound,
footsteps light on grassy ground - 
two hearts crossing shade and stream,
whose quiet vow I still keep clean.
No grand words here, no carved-out name;
only what the wind and I became.



I do not choose, I do not blame;
I know each footstep, every rún - 
the leap that hid two hearts away,
the apple left at break of day,
palm pressed soft to velvet nose,
where no one watched, and no one knows.



Through rains that fell and winds that blow,
I keep what trust has placed with me;
and those who walk on starlit nights
leave hidden hopes beyond my sight.
I speak no word, I ask no praise - 
my only song is soft ciúnas.



I've held the hush of half-spoken words,
the sigh no other ear has heard;
what passed between the shade and stream
rests beneath my weathered beam.
No tales I tell, no truths I give - 
I only let memories live.








Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald 
All Rights Reserved


Thank you for reading this Poem, for more please come back for more, Remember that” Every landscape is already a poem. The poet simply learns to listen.” Pat Fitzgerald 2026

Thank you for joining me on this journey of writing and discovery. Poetry, for me, is a continuous learning process. A way of finding my own voice and writing style and exploring the beauty of words.

I also write from the heart and never with the intention to cause offence. However, if anything I write ever causes discomfort, please know it is never my purpose. I am only human and occasionally typos or small errors may slip through; I do my best to correct them as soon as they are found.

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Pat Fitzgerald

15 thoughts on “Keeper of Rún”

  3. Wow! I really loved this Pat!! The way you trace the life of the gate and of the land! Masterfully done My Friend!!

    Seems you’ve been spending quality time with your Muse????
    Makes me a bit jealous, but happy for you!!! Ha!
    Chuck :-)

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    1. Thank you Chuck, I have learned to use what I have and what I see, then placing from memory to what my active imagination combines with a very interesting tale and poem. I also learned that If I used what was within myself to get through a speech impedimant, I can 8use that also to tune into poetry that have yet to be composed.. I could place it in the following way. “Walk Slowly enough and listen; the land will speak..” or “every road has a story, It takes a poet to speak of it”I believe this is there for all, imagination is a useful tool to use and allowing it free enough one finds great material to write.. Thank you again my friend.

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      2. Thank you chuck Honestly.. I believe that right now “my Muse” is “the Land” and whatever flows within that.. Who knows where that Muse will stop at next But as long as it stays where it is I have a lot to write on.. Stay safe my friend.

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  5. Brilliant (including last 3 works) and your output is just [I stopped after 1 minute to find a word].

    It is so much harder to wait and let the other think and weigh their thoughts than to rush and land our own. A constant fight until I fell in love with the day. Then a meeting of friends became unique, not because of time or circumstances – no, who knows how long we will be who we are? A childish mind might triptrap into knowledge, useless for the moment but making time feel heavier. Just a lense opened a little makes the light less focused. Not complaining here🤣 just realizing that any deeper now makes every step heavier, broader, freer but holding is such an old habit, like we could save anything from everything. We focus on catching a moment clearly and learn to think that we can give help and support like a good word. Giving broader and new insights. While the friend maybe just needed an assurance that he still is, that his words were heard, maybe even understood – felt not, as each weight we carry is unique and would be the last we would wish to give to a friend. A presence that holds us, reminds us of how to breathe and look still, as we fail to vanish into the pain. A standstill that forces us to actively say yes to the next moment and friend, to grow a new life. It is enough to die once.

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    1. Thank you my friend.. Sometime all we need in a day is to walk slow enough for all else to land before us.. Because when we rush too fast like the rest of the world, we can miss what was important in taht day.

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