Can I make you a fry? A nice cup of tea?
Have ye eaten? Ye‘ll surely be starving - feel free
Warmth of the kitchen cuddles round me
kind faces welcome the auld enemy
and the little grey cat pads and purrs on my knee.
Did ye hear what happened to Patrick McCree?
And Sarah is off to the Land of the Free –
a school trip – no, never! You’re joshing with me!
That’s deadly, that’s fierce, only seventeen she
And the little grey cat pads and purrs on my knee,
Have ye read in the paper – each day there to see
the businesses closing, it’s all on TV,
Bewley’s is gone, and we all must agree
Ireland’s suffering as bad as the Auld Enemy.
And the little grey cat pads and purrs on my knee.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem