Across the Irish Sea
When the light was white from Tilley lamps
And the boat to Holyhead was overladen,
The postman was a sight for pure delight
As casually from his bag he took the letter-
A scrawl whose hand you instantly recall;
The Queen herself stamped in the corner
Above the exile’s home address, silently
Overseeing the sadness of the sons of Erin.
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Comments about this poem (Across the Irish Sea by Matt Mooney )
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