In my dream I walk in the times gone by
On the western edge of a heartbreak shore
Where sleep’s dark fears are howling ‘round
In the bitter bitter dark of a cold wet world
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Behold! An Irishman who remains true to his ancestry. In his dreams, if not in his grievance. GW62
This is as near to a classic as any poem can get. That is, of course, if you ignore those unfortunate typos. Correct them and 'wow' this is good. Adeline