Harps and martyrs, peasants, saints and civil wars,
bar-maids, red-heads, emigrants, and singers, writers,
priests and politicians, laborers and whores,
always ready for a drink and to be fighters.
Green as snot the grass because it always pours,
gray the skies, dark brown the sodden peaty clod,
its people always in a state of mind, because
it is an island that's obsessed by thoughts of God.
9/22/99
gershon hepner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ireland-2/
