Daniel McDonagh Poems

Goodbye young Joseph, I will never see you grow
Or see you play football for the green, white and gold,
It pains my heart so dearly, but my days; they are but few,
However, when I close my eyes, I will always think of you.
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The Lark has lost the will to fly,
On Belfast’ streets, the mourners stand,
Britain’s hand has forced the death
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On Ireland’s land is were I stand
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James Connolly’s spirit
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The green flag of Connolly
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Ireland’s soil is soaked in blood,
Gravestones for a thousand heroes,
The tricolour fly’s in Ulster’s sky
Defying the imperialist foe.
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Malachy Quinn, now he owns a pub,
That he christened, the Walfrid Inn.
He is there day and night, seven days a week,
To welcome visitors that travel over from Ireland.
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Listen to your heart my friend
and hear what it has to say.
Pay attention to its rhythms
when you stand down Parkhead's way
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My great-granddad came from Sligo
And in Glasgow, he found his dream,
Side by side with his fellow compatriots,
He embraced the Bhoys in green.
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A Friday night in Glasgow,
Heaven’s rain was a gentle drizzle,
By the Barrowlands, I drank in Bairds Bar,
A thirsty throat required some ale.
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