Perched upon nightime blue, golden bones with faces of blood, red velvet.
Twin thrones, each with an aura of power and majesty
drawn by horses made from a mid-winter storm.
Far above the reaches of those upon the dismal earth.
The winding gold, striking against the shadows of the black,
mocking the poor who gaze at it, as they hunger for the power and riches it represents.
The power accompanied by 200,000 followers
weaving through the streets of Dublin, still under British rule.
Above all upon the hues of midnight, darkness, storm and sun.
Adored and hated, Celebrated and feared was Daniel O’ Connell who fought to make us free –