Me name is Mick McGonagle,
a man so rare and bold.
I live beneath a rainbow
with my pot of fairy gold.
I have seen the Kings of Erin,
from a thousand years ago,
and I watched them fall and perish
in this land so full of woe.
I have danced the dance with fairies,
and I've loved a Fairy Queen
in these trees, and fields, and forests,
dressed in forty shades of green.
Now the land is filled with strangers
preaching shame, deceit, and lies;
and false patriotic glory
with Old Ireland as the prize.
They care not for love or honour
who would rule by club or gun,
And see not the grave dilemma
when a father grieves his son.
Can they hear not the mother,
or the wife or sister's cries
every time a son or brother
or a faithful husband dies.
When the battle cries are over
and the folk are free from fear,
take a peek beneath a clover
and you'll find that I'm still here.
Then the world will ring with magic bells,
and fairy folk will thrive,
in a better world and greener,
when Old Ireland comes alive.
Me name is Mick McGonagle,
and one day I'll be free
to play again my magic flute,
and dance in Innisfree
I can do all caps, but I can't really shout, the way I need to, after reading this. This poem moved inside me, and I plan on holding on to it. Nothing's more beautiful than than the suffering if Ireland, it's our (less than half, myself & Mexican) greatest strength and most powerful curse. You've done all that very well with this poem, very well.
A fine fairy story Thomas - full of Irish blarney. Great read.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Being of Irish descent, I can truly appreciate this poem. Ahhh...for the love of Erin! Amid the lilt of humor, herein a true tribute to th spirit of Ireland. Wonderful write...keep your Irish up! ! ! ! PEACE