O, great-great-grandson
of Ireland
The place where you walk
has no high hills
Like the ones
of our Emerald Isle
This land in which you dwell
is hard and grey
Not like the soft, green land
of our home
Pray, what makes you stay
in such a dull state?
Come home, come home,
o son, and come to know this place
This land where your forbearers
lived through the ages
Come, meet us at the warm pub
and we’ll lift a pint or two
We’ll teach you all the old songs
that must be sung together
For, though you did not begin
here,
‘tis here that you should end
So come along, across the sea
and set your feet upon Her
Return to Her, sweet Ireland,
for she misses you even now
DUDE!!
ReplyDeleteI tell myself I'm not really from Canada, just been on vacation from Ireland since 1830.
This poem is my heart and soul.
And funny -- I have in the DVD player right NOW, "On A Clear Day" which I'll continue watching in a little while. I'm 27 minutes into it. An Irish film. Quite enjoying it.
xo