She was from West Belfast she said:
On a high stool in a pub on a corner
Playing free the spoons on her knee,
As we blasted away across from her.
A tall hefty man was drinking a pint-
He sounded like he was a Northern;
We gave him Eamon's pair of bones
For he wanted to play along with us.
He told me that he was East Belfast,
At home he was a Lambeg Drummer;
But on trying a beat on my bodhrán
He said it was too small in diameter!
His drum is goatskin three feet wide,
Twice the size of its bodhrán brother;
You beat both sides and as it's played
You'd be sure it was peals of thunder.
About the All Ireland Fleadh in Derry,
He'd not take a Lambeg there he said:
Sure they might not like his drumming-
So roll on the Apprentice Boys Parade.
Before he left to go he got up to talk
To the Belfast lady up at the counter;
She told me quietly they got on better
Whenever they are south of the border.
borders made by human politics do not divide the hearts....how true and metaphorically said....liked it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem sir, here does a balancing act and the devices applied are great all throughout.