They talked of the gunfight at Headford and of the ambush at Tureengarriffe glen
Back in the young days of Sean Moylan who led Duhallow’s rebel men.
Yet their stories failed to inspire me to want to die for God and Country
For they only talked of the Tan wars when they had drunk something stronger than tea
The booze stirred in them patriotism though they seemed so different next day
When they seemed more placid and laid back and of war had nothing to say.
I never fought in any battle and of bravery I cannot boast
And above my cheap timber coffin a bugler won’t play the last post
And the few who knew me might mention that bloke used to pen doggerel
He won’t be going to the poets heaven though we do not wish him in hell.
I never was much of a sportsman an average man in my prime
And in my late twenties in the early seventies I became strongly addicted to rhyme
Yet when I have gone to the reaper maybe some one who knew me will recall
I still remember that old fellow for he was a good bloke after all.
An ordinary and ageing migrant the years have left me looking gray
Yet I’m one who doesn’t lack in humor I have a good laugh every day
And though I can’t boast of fame and of fortune that would guarantee me renown
I have travelled far south of the Townland of Claraghatlea near Millstreet Town.