Ah,
tis grand to be Irish,
An' even part is a Good Part.
But I have grave grievance with St Pat:
He threw those snakes and pagans
straight out of their homes
and that was that!
T'was another great bullied affair
Agin original folk everywhere.
But what can you do? do you know?
twixt the rock and a stone and your home
when the bigger and stronger come?
We endure
Though conquered and maimed
Enslaved and ashamed
Spirit can never be killed.
And a voice that whispers rebellion
forced in a tongue not it's own
will not be so easily stilled.
And so Bright Brid still shines for us.
Though She be saint by some other name.
Israel has a saint now, Saint Sharone.
Australia & America much the same
But it will take more than a thousand years
to give me cause to celebrate.
And with such saints as those
Who needs prophets to relate
What future doom they bring?
As for the Irish? And their luck?
Never was there such an unlucky race
of lucky survivors except
I hope right now.
To the Green instead! I sing!
And the Great Thought that pushes its head
from the blood stained earth! To grow again!
And to the snakes and all living creatures
crushed or forced and driven
from their homes
from their language
from the land that is their birthright,
I send Bright Blessings.
By living presence be our witness,
We will endure.
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