Music is general over Ireland:
There’s a kid with a fiddle
On Grafton Street, and out
In the West, in Ballydehob,
There’s a German couple
In Rosie’s bar, who are playing
Bob Marley. Your parents
Are fox-trotting across the floor
In the golf club, and the army band
Is practicing “Faith of our Fathers”.
In Limerick the pipes, the pipes
Are calling, and in this little church
By the sea, there’s music dancing
Where the altar used to be.
There’s a ceilidh tonight
In the community centre
On Clare Island, and the pipes
Sing like a bad woman
And in Toners there’s a poet
Who suddenly bursts into
“My Lagan Love”, and high
Above Ben Bullen, there’s a
Skylark rising, rising, rising.
For Brendan, over at toads. We are asked to write a poem for St Patrick’s Day. It was hard to narrow it down. Toner’s is a pub in Dublin, if you’re wondering.