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No-one asked the land If it wanted this strife. Footsteps it felt, Familiar and foreign, Were forebodings of conflict. Clashes about who had The right to call it their own. No-one asked the land If it wanted all these deaths. Bodies to be taken, separated From those who were left alive: Sometimes the living took their leave, Sometimes they turned away in hate, Sometimes they simply did not know. No-one asked the land If it wanted this task. Unwelcome weight of what had lost life. Still it took in silence the torn and lifeless Remains of all those who died Victims of Irish history. |
