Open Poetry #1 |
Irish Grit |
Sheila Junior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 23Lansing, Michigan, Ingham |
IRISH GRIT We came across the stormy seas From Ireland we hail We braved the unknown as we went Still we hoisted up the sail A country that was not our own We fled to desperately To leave the hardship of our land Both famine and poverty The prospects of new life ahead Circled in our minds An opportunity so rare That we left our baby behind A sick and frail young lad he was Too ill to make the trip So later we would send for him When to life, he had a grip The years went by and we just heard How sickly was the boy He couldn’t bare the trip quite yet That farmer was very coy He told the lad he was his son So he grew up thinking that And how’s the boy suppose to know On our letters the farmer sat Then one time unexpectedly The boy sassed someone near And the truth was told about him He could not believe his ears So off to war the lad did run It was a proud job that he did And when at last it ended He never went “home” again Across the seas our boy came To find his real home To search and find his family And claim them for his own The lad, he did get married And lived his life so free Had children who had children Now that’s prosperity It’s now more than a century Seven generations past We wouldn’t know our roots today If that deception were to last Thank God that our James Casey Had Irish grit to spare A heritage I’m proud of I hope he knows I care Sheila J. Thurston Great-great granddaughter July 8, 1999 |
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© Copyright 1999 Sheila - All Rights Reserved | |||
IsabelleSkye Member
since 1999-06-27
Posts 253 |
I am half Irish and PROUDLY one-quarter scottish, and my family came over as pioneers too. What tough people eh? Thanks, this was a neat way to show your family history and pride, Izzy ------------------ "I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than to be crowded on a velvet cushion." .....Henry David Thoreau |
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Saxoness
since 1999-07-18
Posts 1102Texas |
Erin Goh Bragh! ------------------ "Glory remains unaware of my neglected dwelling where alone I sing my tearful song which has charms only for me." -Charles Brugnot |
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