Poem-The Lark -- Stormont Watch

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Date Posted: Fri, Aug 25 2006, 14:09:12 PDT
Author: From a WATCHer
Subject: Poem-The Lark

THE LARK -- Diarmuid Breatnach

Last night, from afar,
I watched the Lark die
and inside me began to cry,
and outside, a little too.

There's nothing more
that can now be done,
to save the life
of this toiler's son --
another martyr:
Bobby, adieu.

Imperialism takes
once more its toll;
another name
joins the Martyrs' Roll,
and a knife of
sadness runs us through.

But sorrow, we
must watch,
for it can still,
the song of Freedom
yes, it can kill,
the song that Bobby
listened to.

And if his death
be not in vain,
let's fuel our anger
with the pain,
and raise his
fallen sword anew.

And this sword,
to us bequeathed,
let its blade
be never sheathed,
'til all our foes
be ground to dust,
and their machines
naught but rust --
then, will the Servant
be the Master,
and our widening horizors
ever vaster,
and our debt
to Bobby
paid
as due.

London, Bealtaine 6ú 1981

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> >THE LARK -- Diarmuid Breatnach > >Last night, from afar, > I watched the Lark die >and inside me began to cry, > and outside, a little too. > >There's nothing more > that can now be done, >to save the life > of this toiler's son -- >another martyr: > Bobby, adieu. > >Imperialism takes > once more its toll; >another name > joins the Martyrs' Roll, >and a knife of > sadness runs us through. > >But sorrow, we > must watch, >for it can still, > the song of Freedom >yes, it can kill, > the song that Bobby >listened to. > >And if his death > be not in vain, >let's fuel our anger > with the pain, >and raise his > fallen sword anew. > >And this sword, > to us bequeathed, >let its blade > be never sheathed, >'til all our foes > be ground to dust, >and their machines > naught but rust -- >then, will the Servant > be the Master, >and our widening horizors > ever vaster, >and our debt > to Bobby > paid > as due. > >London, Bealtaine 6ú 1981

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