The poet from Howth

And in his unending sorrow the poet from Howth did sing of
stories of the Black & Tans
his grizzled face worn tired

but not beat by God’s unholy grace, his hands gnarled knobs
of wintered flesh
by Irelands bloody land

‘I never took a backward
step did I’, he said, and the rain pelted down as the seas
leapt the wall, and here
was history from the
Battle of the Boyne to the blood stained Liffey still singing
a testament drunk; and I became a lonely ear for his hurting
Irish heart.

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