anxiously folding a blanket
as eyes scan the horizon
Where is he? What's happened?
fighting for freedom, fighting for freight
the dead potato crop's weight
my children are hungry, what can I do?
my children are dying... and I am too.
A boat. A ship. A voyage. A chance.
my grandchildren will Irish dance
because blood is thick, but memory is thicker
and the Irish never forget.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment