The Leaving

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And the shamrock still
Will grow on the hill

In that little green land
Surrounded by sand

They know they must leave
No hope of reprieve

Weary and pained
Not much to be gained

They say goodbye
And their hearts will cry

Oh, you’ve been sold
The little green, white and gold.

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About Yvette Hudson

Being Irish - loving the culture.  
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Leaving

  1. sparsely worded yet eloquent.. your longing comes through so crystal clear.

  2. Thank you for the comment.

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