James Connolly's Shirt, 1916
By Alannah Murray, 5th Year
Edinburgh, a baby’s cry,
1868 Impoverished Irish exult in pride
At 14 years to Ire he came,
fate Adamant never to hide
–
A spark ignited: soars, dances
It never flickers low,
It battles forces and enhances
forticiation of those of ‘no’
–
Uniting those opposing foes,
Stimulating the foreseen future
With and of men he was keenly chose:
Pivotal, crucial, leader, Tutor
–
With each other a fugal bond.
A bleak, inept location grand,
Urgently seeking a fierce abscond:
“We serve neither king nor kaiser, but Ireland”
–
Almost 100 years since Monday dawned
an ominous snarling, insatiable predator,
Steadfast, tenacious; beat hastening on
One of seven, one of three, an eminent letter
–
Clean white canvas – signs of fatigue
The lines, the years, the day
An impact follows far too late, prestige
The boom gone, memory in quake
–
Liberty Hall an exceptional token
It’s seen and thought of still
They do occur in thoughts awoken:
Him at Arbour Hill.
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