On Talking To Christine Gillespie Poem by Francis Duggan

She was in Ireland drove through Connemara
Two years ago in June in ninety eight
She found the weather cold and wet for Summer
But otherwise her memories are great

Of the kindhearted and hospitable people
That she met on her few weeks over there
As good as any she had met on her travels
And in fact as good as she had met anywhere.

Christine Gillespie was ill with flu in Ireland
The weather for her that bit cold and wet
But otherwise she says the trip worth taking
And the memories she never will forget

Of the stone fences in ancient Connemara
And the beauty of the small fields in their green
And for as long as she lives the memories will stay with her
Of the beauty in old Ireland she had seen.

In Laois she visited a distant cousin
One who like her came from a famous clan
That gave us James Fintan and Peter Lalor
The Fenian leader and the Union man.

Christine Gillespie has won her fight with cancer
Life has it's share of happiness and tears
And she says she has never felt so happy
And that for her it's been a worrying few years.

Whenever Christine Gillespie talks of Ireland
She has the look of sadness in her eyes
For she loves Ireland as she'd love an old friend
Despite the weather and the cloudy skies.