At War Poem by Mai Murphy Venn

It's autumn and it's Ireland where the grass is emerald green,
Where there is a culture that is hidden and never to be seeing,
Where the government played that game of, pretending to be first-rate.
While ordinary citizens are not happy with the nation-state.

This little country has had it's up and down of troubles and its woes.
We have had famine, emigration, child abuse, and plenty more of those.
But now we reach rock bottom with the leadership that actually not fair.
To the young and old and the sick and homeless, they don't give a care.

That day will come when they will be gone in the past of yesterday.
Those of us that are still around will shout with glee, Hip, Hip, Hurray.
They say that Ireland is the land of Saints and Scholars that are illustrious.
We as a nation are noted for returning from our battles far more robustious.

We have had battles from 1798 to 1916 with our neighbour across the sea.
The disagreement that is raging now is festering; we are fighting to be free.
We want our country back once more, no capitalists, that drains us dry.
We wish to rid ourself of that flocks the rule us from Dail Eireann high