John F. McCullagh
The Mouth Of The Flowers - Poem by John F. McCullagh
On a lonely road they traveled,
Michael Collins and his friends.
Though the road led to
He would never see its end.
For the I.R.A. was waiting
where they knew that he must pass.
O’Neil, an I.R.A. man,
T’was him who fired the fatal blast.
Kitty Kiernan made a widow
before she ever was a bride.
On an August day in Twenty two
Brave Michael Collins died.
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