![]() Luck Of The IrishA Poem by David O Whalen (O Haolin in Celtic)![]() Immigration...long ago![]() Calloused hands
On plowshare grips Chapped and cracked Tight drawn lips Frowning brows atop pale blue eyes Scan grazing cows And cobalt skies Bowed of spine From hard work bent Plows the line His life neigh spent Oxen be his driving force The loam his very vale His view not the best of course Of oxen arse and tail He’s mine own great grandpaw Farmer man and proudly so Poor and Irish, says it all Passed e’er so long ago Never knew that Irishman Twas long before my time But he had the brass to board a boat, To a strange and foreign clime A lucky man So I came to be in a wondrous land With a wondrous family A lucky man am I indeed To begotten by such a man of brass To have been blessed And much impressed By that man of the sod …And by his Irish lass… © 2013 David O Whalen (O Haolin in Celtic) |
Stats
116 Views
1 Review Added on August 31, 2013 Last Updated on August 31, 2013 Author![]() David O Whalen (O Haolin in Celtic)Las Vegas, NVAboutBorn in Kentucky, teen years in Loveland Ohio, old in age, young in mind, I'm not human, I don't believe in religion, love. faith or trust, I do believe in: lil' kids, ol' dogs, leprechauns, and water.. more..Writing
|