Of Straw and Scraw
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T'was with the fancy houses
Of Lords and ladies born
Of oak trees, swans and stables
Of roses all adorn
That caught my eye and had me often
Swooning at the knee
When he would cast his eye aside
Not a bit impressed was he.
His love was for the simple house
Where peasants would abide
The humble little cottages
Tucked along the mountainside.
I asked him why he chose these dwellings
'Ore the other grander place
He sat with mug of tea in hand
A smile lit up his face
And as he spoke
Through fireside smoke
His words they sang a song
Of memories long forgotten
Of ancestors now long gone.
"A stór, you have forgotten where your families history lie
And where our people lived their lives-
Gave birth, worked hard and died.
T'was not within a stately home
or of the Manor born
Not lived through those large window panes or chair seats never worn.
A sweeping staircase don't make me sigh
Or fill my eye with tear
A ceiling full of acorn leaves
doth leave me cold my dear
For I'm an Irish man of old
Who thinks on times gone past
We built these homes with our bare hands
We built them made to last
It wasn't under Spainish slate or red brick I called home
T'was wood and earth
And straw and scraw
With walls made from field stone.
And of all the souls that I hold dear
Of all my kit and kin
Each one of them I still see here their memory locked within.
Just like the peat
That made the heat
His wise words caused a spark
And as we sat with song and chat
Their meaning left a mark
For as I walked out
Through the old half door
I turned my head to say goodbye
My soul felt heaving leaving
And a tear fell from my eye
Áine McGarry 🌞
Photo by Willie Forde Photography
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