Poem I’ll just write what comes to mind

The candle light stood on the floor
And the girls they danced within
A son of Ireland stood on to see
The last time he would dance here
He took the boat upon a Sunday
When the priest words were fading
And the sea was sailing across
The broad Atlantic Coast

He took a job in Brooklyn to live
Rested in comfort among his kin
The prize money he drank of a
Tuesday when the blood was in
His eye. He sang a song of Ireland
And beat a merry drum

Awaiting in Galway among the shoals
Of Aran tweed a girl lies crying
Praying that his feet will dance again

(C) frank McGivney 28 October 2014

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