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Raibh saol macánta Bhí cónaí orainn, throid muid. Grá againn. Ní raibh sé éasca, ach ba linne é Linne Now, it's theirs We speak their language We had to, they said, or we'll be punished
She sits on a stone wall, combing her hair; Humming a tune old as time,  Familiar, yet no one knows it Old and frail or young and beautiful She is never the same twice
Gen’rally, as pirates go There’s something that you ought to know If you’re looking for some friendly sands, Don’t winter down at Ireland   There’s a Scottish Scourge, by name MacCaddock 
My mother was a white womanbut a woman, all the same. For years, I never thought much of white womenIn fact, I didn’t think of them much.
On and on, the music flows,Through the fields of the Village Green.   On and on the music goes,The Irish sing and dance it home.   On and on the music flows,Down the valley to the village below.
In two thousand and six, my parents hit me with a kick Leaving my home of green, rolling hills in Ireland Moving across the ocean to this barren land of cowboys and lost dreams  
Peep, slip under the surface tension. Dip, sail under the current's one-way mirror. I found your skin buried under the old yew. I fell in love with your form, your ocean grace. Mermaid of fur. Dog of my heart's ship; my ship's heart.
(poems go here) Its wakin’ up at five in the mornin’ Its doin’ jobs no one else will Its goin’ hungry for the children’s sakes Its doin’ your best to survive just to spite ‘em
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