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Cromwell ©

Graham Donachie
Victoria, Canada

A silver moon once shone upon a field of Irish green,
where love and joy and laughter grew,
amongst the fey unseen.

A wondrous place where dancing was the law by tunes demand,
the jig the master of the few,
in that verdant faerie land.

O red the hair and spark the eye o bogland breathless maid,
could steal the heart of pious saint.
his sacrament left unsaid.

And joyous were the gurgles o the mountain tumbling streams,
where warriors drank the heady brew,
and fought in warrior dreams.

Where song birds left their chorus high for mortal man to sing,
hosannas to a nature gift,
in heaven's halls to ring.


He came unto this hallowed land with vengeance in his eye,
his horsemen to the plunder bent,
unheeding terrors cry.

From the wailing child, the ravished maid and emasculated priest,
his dragoons now fed eagerly,
at this abundant feast.

He skewered their rebellion by the might of his sabre keen,
and brought a bloody pestilence to
this land which once was green.

And when he sated blood lust and his rapine in the land,
all bowed unto his iron will,
their lives at his command.

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