The Mouth Of The Flowers Poem by John F. McCullagh
The Mouth Of The Flowers
On a lonely road they traveled,
Michael Collins and his friends.
Though the road led to
Cork City
He would never see its end.
For the I.R.A. was waiting
where they knew that he must pass.
O’Neil, an I.R.A. man,
T’was him who fired the fatal blast.
Kitty Kiernan made a widow
before she ever was a bride.
On an August day in Twenty two
Brave Michael Collins died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/25/2024 5:29:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
