My land

They storlled from the bog

Their hearts slipped away

To grieve from where

They learned to wipe the

Tears of frustrated love

Which dribbled through

The darkened stubble of the

Only youth they ever knew

Beneath the clouds hammering

The clay upon the soles

They tied with calloused fingers

Beneath blackened nails.

The land dug deep inside the

Skin brunt red in afternoon

Hours of sweat dripped labour

The bites of hungry flies drew

Red from the tan as milkened

Tea quenched a thirst born

Of hope for the scratched map

Trailing to where the world

Has embraced the melody

Birthed in gin drop joints

Of hope for change

(C) frankie mcgivney

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s