Poor Old Ireland Poem by Mai Murphy Venn

There they all are with faces that would stop a clock
You're man went to America as time went tick tock
The Dail it was empty no a man or a woman in the chair
I ask you my compatriots and any one ellse, is that really fare.
Oh God. It great to be Irish on glorious St Patrick feast day
When we wares the Shamrock, Some of us have no home to stay
Yet the marching commences thought out our green land
They will be some T.D.s there looking proud on that mighty stand
While the parade will march by in the land, sure it will be grand
Banners will flutter and pipe bands will play, as they will walk on
Colour floats glide by. However, when it is over and we are all gone
The homeless will still be without homes to call them their own
Some one could sit down outside of the Dail and write true poem
Hospitals corridors, the sick lay on trolleys, no change, still the same
Now we wait for a leader and hope that progress will be the aim
We are approaching the 100 anniversary of the Easter Risen revolt
Has anything been learn or will historian have another story to be told
Well I will bid you adieu for now and hope to things will get better
If not I put more words down on paper and we all join writing together