Lisburn Exiles Forum

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The Lisburn Exiles Forum is dedicated to the memory of James Goddard Collins (The Boss) who single-handedly built LISBURN.COM (with a lot of help from many contributors) from 1996 to 29th November 2012. This website was his passion and helping people with a common interest in the City of Lisburn around the world is his lasting legacy.

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By Joe Donnelly

from an old ireland by net friend from Belfast

Joe Donnelly writes from Austria; Hi Joe, I've been readin yer wee Rushlight on internet an' also had a few more copys from me nephew Andy in Belfast, an' I notice that ye maybe could use a poem I wrote some time ago. At any rate Joe, yer doin' a mighty good job fer us ol' exiles. Thanks a million... Joe Donnelly...... Austria
An Old Man’s Dream
I trudged along with heavy gait, tired, weary an' sore,
The dust whirled up 'neath my feet, tauntin' me thirst to the core.
My heavy heart pulled me down, me shoulders ached with pain,
Deep in me soul I asked meself, has me whole life been in vain.
Is this the life I worked for Lord, all the years since I was young,
Has it all passed by so quickly, like a song that was never sung,
May I expect a better life, as you promised us, one and all,
Will I be deemed as worthy, when I answer your last call.
Just then as if in answer, a car pulled to the side,
A gentle voice then asked me , if I wished with her to ride.
In disbelief I looked at her, blonde hair an' Angel face,
A work of art from God alone, a measure o' the human race.
She smiled an' opened the door fer me, an' beckoned to be seated,
An' bendin' low, I took the seat, fer me tired limbs were defeated.
She looked at me with tenderness, in her steady, silent gaze,
An, till I die, I knew just then, me soul she did amaze.
She asked me where I was bound, with a voice so sweet an' mellow,
That let me hear the birds an' bees, ferget I'm a poor ol' fellow.
But I shook meself an' told her, I had neither kin nor home,
That I was born a tinker, this beautiful land to roam.
I said I'm not the only one commited to a life o' pain,
That knowledge has accompanied me, time an' time again,
But I've lived me life in decency, bourne it as a man,
Knowin' all too well, its all a part o' Gods Own Devine Plan.
The poor who I have worked fer, mendin' pots, sharpenin' knives,
Gave their strength fer little pay, an' shortened so their lives,
So that their landlords could enjoy, the days with unholy pleasure,
Ne'er thinkin' o' the wounds an' pain, inflicted beyond measure
I tried, aye, God knows I tried, to help them from despair,
Fer they had none to show compassion, nor love, nor hope nor care.
Till Famine raised his ugly head, above the flur an' village,
An' soon began the task of hate, the poor an' harmed to pillage.
An' God stood by an' watched it happen, He didn't raise a hand,
He saw the Strangers movin' in to plunder old Ireland,
I stood there as if turned to stone