I am back on the road again,
In the memories of my womb;…
Labouring under a heavy sack,
Contracted footsteps, on my way to school.
Now it looks so narrow;
Or has it just shrunk in my head?
Compressed by the life I’ve lived,
And those dreams I had instead?
The city has seduced the land,
There are factories on the grass;
And the crossroads where the fiddler played,
Is now a tower, of steel and glass.
That granite walled old churchyard,
Has grown so many tombs;
But the gravel pathway looks unchanged;
Although a little worn.
My footsteps there still sound the same,
Haunting echo’s of the past,
Holding coffins on my shoulder;
Muffled bells at funeral Mass.
There I find the Celtic Cross,
Names engraved – I know each face,
Part of me lies buried here,
The proud history of my race.
A soft rain falls on ancient trees;
Then a choir of leaves are heard,
Resounding in this sacred place –
A requiem for the dead.