Wednesday, 9 March 2016

Birth of a nation

Birth of a nation

The Officer smirked at him lying in pain

‘Watch the sunrise Connolly - you won’t see it again

This little adventure was doomed from the start

You Irish are game but you’re not very smart,

Did you think we would tremble, that the Empire would fall

because a rabble of Rebels answered the call?’


Connolly was silent, his eyes far away

How little they understood even today

This struggle, the first pang of his land’s labour pain

Another would follow, then another again,

As a rose takes its life from the tiniest bud,

so a nation could grow from its sons’ martyred blood,


So they carried him out in the pale morning light

Where his comrades had stood with their truth burning bright

From the stretcher they tied him to an old wooden chair

as the birdsong of spring filled the crisp Dublin air,

He gazed at the clouds in the impassive sky

and whispered to Ireland his final goodbye.


The gift that he left them was not easily found

A seed planted deep in the cold Irish ground

As his last wish for Ireland he prayed that they’d see

That they’d only know justice when their nation was free

So they lifted their rifles with a conqueror’s ire

But Connolly just smiled as a voice shouted... ‘fire!’











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