April 20, 2012

A Son Not Forsaken

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

1 comment:

  1. DUDE!!

    I 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.



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