Irish President At Windsor Bound Poem by Bernard Kennedy

Irish President At Windsor Bound

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History, from so far back,
has been bombs,
bullets, bickering, breaching revenge.
A peculiarity between cousins, Christian,
employer and employee.
The groundwork done by navvies,
undone by others from home.
Politicians taking time, appropiate time
though mingled with election theme.
Henry was invited though the story told was
Albion, came blustering in- untrue.
Our neighbour, bastion against starvation,
like letters from America. Our boys fodder,
for ninteen fourteen, unspoken, whispered
in Dublin, as bombs, bullets, breaching
revenge was the hours blood.

Then the women got involved, mothers of
our histories disappeared,
and Albions Woman, like Maeve,
sailed up the Liffey.

And now the President, no longer hating history,
but repairing, is invited, like the early Henry,
but by woman, and history now can calm itself.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: friendship
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