All that's left of Ireland is her hair—
bright carrot—and her milkmaid-pallid skin,
her brilliant air of cavalier despair,
her train of children—some conceived in sin,
...
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A captivating poem!
But, if I may add:
There's more left of Ireland than you wrote,
Her stubborn independence, lovely brogue.
Talented actors, writers, not a few,
She sings away the darkness; dances, too.
And I've lost count of all the comedians who hail from Ireland! : -)
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A captivating poem! But, if I may add: There's more left of Ireland than you wrote, Her stubborn independence, lovely brogue. Talented actors, writers, not a few, She sings away the darkness; dances, too. And I've lost count of all the comedians who hail from Ireland! : -)