By Imelda Walsh Brookes
Young eyes, expectant, eager, seeing Leam,
Captured in the school’s wide window frame.
Your bright world is fresh to day
Vibrant clothed in Spring’s array,
Warm homes sheltered by the glen
Guarded by the brown mountain.
Low stonewalls surround each field
Fruitful with its promised yield.
Rushes stirred by soft warm air
Heather, yellow furze so fair,
Green ferns, its fresh fronds ensnare.
The primrose shyly growing there.
The gleaming mirror of the lake
Reflecting beauty for beauty’s sake.
But dotted on the hillside green,
Small sad ruins can still be seen.
Ivy covered stones still stand,
Mute testimony of a ravished land.
And drills are clearly shown,
Where once the seeds were sown.
The seed that when full grown
Provided food for our forebears
‘Till dread famine stalked this land.
Printed by kind permission of: