Monday, 9 October 2017

Mohammed Ali in Dublin, The Wind the Shakes... and John B.s Poor Relations



The old church tower after which Church Street was named


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A Poem for the Emigrants


There's music in  my heart today,
I hear it late and early,
It comes from fields are far away,
The wind that shakes the barley.

Above the uplands drenched with dew
The sky hangs soft and pearly
An emerald world is listening to
The wind that shakes the barley

Above the bluest mountain crest
The lark is singing rarely,
It rocks the singer into rest,
The wind that shakes the barley.

Oh, still through summers and through springs
It calls me late and early.
Come home, come home, come home, it sings,
The wind that shakes the barley. 

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