Astrid Droll

Saoirse Eireann


Saoirs Eireann
 
Beloved land
Your hills so green
Surrounded by blue waters
 
The language of your children
Voice of druids
From a time long beyond
Poetry with every word
 
There where foreigner become friends
On the turffires
Singing old lyrics - telling old tales
 
Your enemy was destiny
You won the fight
Ships arrived to take your children
Into a far away land
The foreign man could not break your your pride
 
But why are your storytellers silent
 
Listen harps and fiddles playing
From coast to coast you can hear them
Through the foggy dew
Marching with the death
 
Beloved land
Your hills so red
From your own blood
Surrounded by sadness and tears
 
The language of your children
Voice of violence
Made by bombs and riffles
Hatred with every words
 
There where brothers and sisters become enemies
On the streets
Old churches burning - homes are ruins
 
Your new enemy your sons and daughters
You lost the fight
No ships save your children
Destroyed by your own - your pride
 
Will there ever be a tale
 
Listen uilleann pipes and bodhrans playing
From glen to glen you can hear them
Through the morning light
Marching with a new generation
 
Beloved land
 
They will burn the turffires
There where the corn of freedom rises
Singing old lyrics - narrate a new tale
 
For you - My Ireland

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Astrid Droll.
Published on e-Stories.org on 06/23/2008.

 

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