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An Irishman's Death ©

Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Lavergne, USA

Tha cloods o' darkness drift in tae cover
tha eyes o' tha mortal, tha breath tae smother
An' tha soul cries humbly for its release
Radiantly it arises shinning brichtly this immortal Fleece.

It view it's mortal clay, nue aged an' worn
An' views tha spectical o' emotions, frae tha family torn
An' he feels tha licht o' life,
calling frae afar
amongst tha sacred jewels o' tha northern Pole Star.

An' a song lingers in tae grasp his ears
Its melody ancient an' soothing awa' a' his fears
As images gather aroun' him tae welcome him hame
Tae Munster o' Erin, tha bith place o' his name.

An' afor him arises fiel's o' emerald green
Wae gardens gallant an Lochs o' silver gleam
An' there within this gran vision o' peace o' bliss
Comes tha images and forms o' his parents, that he dearly did miss.

An he comes tae meet all tha ancesters o' his race
Here within tha groves o' Munster this sacred place
An he enters tha gran halls o' tha ancient hame
where stan tha Bards an Druids o' celtic fame.

Here tis his hame, whare he kens all forms
here tis tha place free frae strifes vibrant storms
Tae rest alas, within tha great mother's mighty womb
fearing nae mare Death's col' darkened tomb.

Sleeping wae his fathers in Heaven's deepth o' blue
In a place called TirnaOge, tha hame o' Celts--Like me an you.

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