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Month: June 2014

No Title

This poem was written by my Mother. It has no title and I am not sure when she wrote it.  My sister Maggi gave it to  me, so I thought I would share it with you.   A smokey room, chink of glass The bar is full, no room to pass Familiar faces one by one They gather around, the day’s work done Among the faces one or two The village drunk I thought I knew Avoid that man as he stumbles past My hair curls up, this drink the last Marge Clifford

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Drink

This poem was written in August 1916 by my Grandfather P.J Keady, aged 19 while he served in the British Navy during the First World War. Drink There are moments when doubt and depression Make living seem like hell When ones thoughts are the consent obsession That mankind is everything vile When nothing there is will sooth one What, nothing?.. Yes one thing there is wine When all things else fail when every things gale That’s the nectar of Bacchus divine It muses, enlivens, arouses There’s music in each flowing glass And the magic each tankard-full houses Will change to “Cheer Ho” sad “Alas” Then sing ye the glories of Guinness And sound ye the praises of Bass Each beaker of bitter will win us A pleasure that none can surpass P.J. Keady

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