My poem

Sean

This is a poem i have wrote about Wolfe Tone

Wake Of Wolfe Tone

Here Our Worthy Brother lies;
Wake not with Him with womens cries:
Mourn the way that manhood ought;
Sit in silent trance of thought

Write His merits in your mind;
Morals Pure and manners kind;
In his head as on a hill,
Virtue plac'd her citadel.

Why Cut pff in palmy youth?
Truth he spoke, and acted to truth.
Country men UNITE, he cry'd,
And Dy'd For what his saviour dy'd.

God of mercy God of love
Why is our land in the state it's in today?

klong

Here is my first, nervous attempt at poetry:

30/10/01 "Sunday"

Sunday sent me cycling.
Enduring Mass followed by the newspaper
Created in me an urge
To do something, to go somewhere
But where?

I never thought about it really;
Although I should have told them,
I didn't.
"I'll go where instinct says".
To Whitecross so

And a right
Through deserted roads.
" So where are all the people?"
Not a match day
But the bunting was still up.

Yet in Dublin
Sunday does not exist.
Its not for me, a quasi-country lad.
Their life is alien to me
and it must remain thus so,
For Sunday is for cycling, Mass
And newspapers:
No more.