Low and squat -ugly, like a
scab on the heathery hill,
outpost on the road to Donegal.
Manned by boys; nervous; homesick.
Four of us over the border.
a weekend of diddly-dee music -
luck of the Irish looking after the rest.
He waved us in as we knew he would
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem