The Easter Lilly Poem by fergus michael joy condron

Blazed white is the Easter Lilly, ye shall find no blemish on her, she bends gently with the calling breeze and of her thoughts, the soil still roars.
Only the very safe, it is, who may speak of wrong's and right's, the mighty sword of empires, cloak of death by day and night.
Shall I find you as a statue, remembered in the town, should I search and find your lonely grave, where they coldly cut you down.
Should I ask myself the questions, as I walk the sweet boreen, where I may pick the lilies white, where they grow so proud, serene?
Did they drag you off a stretcher and tie you to a chair, when the bullets ripped the heroes flesh, then his body in deathly sag, the lily let out her vengeance cry, as she held blood splattered flag.
Generations since have fought and died, like a barley field cut and threshed, but the empire brute carried on his ways in the dungeons of long kesh.
So I shall honour the lily proud, for the many years beyond, and I shall always answer their questions so, I am right and you are wrong.