My Humble Tent

Saints and scholars, Our island paints, Beautiful echoes of harmonies, With colours, Of many shades of sweeping green, Like paradise touched in an endless dream, Culture is like art that screams, From Donegal's Blue Stack mountains, To Kilkenny's cobbled lanes, Driving westward to the unique beauty, Of Connemara's mountain chain, The Twelve Bens, A perfect ten For structure and sheer grandeur. Killarney lakes tranquil and awake To the allure of the Kerry mountain range, The river Shannon's mighty force With tales of old and some so strange, Imagination full of animation, About the darkness of what happens to the dead, Eerie screams of the banshee, Wailing because of death lurking, Around corners and looking over our shoulders, For life is lived and death is our last breath, Don't fret, Heaven will bring it's rewards, Of peace serenely measured out in heavenly yards, Fairytales, myths and legends abound, Throughout our land, With heroes and villains still around, In modern Ireland History is just a step away, With laughter hiding our sorrows, To make and awake the day, With literary giants, Hovering wisely, Their words a glorious chant, As politicians have their daily rant, With corruption leaping, From the ashes of fallen banks, Like a ship of fools just sank, Ireland is rising again to a higher rank, As we feel proud of cultural excellence, And sporting achievements, I write this love poem To our country, speedily sent, From my humble tent.