The Poet

He once walked the streets of Dublin wearing shabby pants and coat And nowadays many critics claim him to be Ireland's greatest poet He died in eighteen forty nine of malnutrition we are told At a young age for a man to die just forty six years old. He died a Dublin pauper without a penny to his name But his lovely poems and ballads assured him immortal fame His name will live on in Ireland long as Ireland's fields are green Irish people will remember Mangan and his poem 'Dark Rosaleen' In Mangan the poor of Ireland have a name to celebrate He's proved the point that though a man be poor doesn't mean he can't be great He's proved the point that even poor man can be blessed with genius mind That his poverty type existence does'nt mean he's backward kind. He once walked the streets of Dublin a gaunt and corpse like man But through this fragile figure's mind the stream of genius ran And though he eased his woes with opium and died in poverty He will always be remembered as a Prince of Poetry.