Há pouco tempo, alguém me lembrou da palavra 'whirlpool' e deixou-me a pensar. E eu, mesmo nada por acaso, lembrei-me disto:

Oh Nessa my dear, Nessa my dear,
Will you stay with me on the rocks ?
Will you come for me into the Irish sea
And for me let your red hair down ?
And then we will ride into Dublin city
In a taxi-cab wrapped-up in dust.
Oh you are a whirlpool, you are a whirlpool,
And I am very nearly drowned.

Paul Durcan, Nessa (excerto)