John Montague

هي قصيدة بقلم الشاعر جون مونتاغ، تحتوي القصيدة على ذكريات المتحدث المليئة بالحنين إلى العمل الروتيني الذي أكمله في شبابه.

,We match paces along the Hill Head Road ;the road to the old churchyard of Errigal Keerogue .its early cross, a heavy stone hidden in grass

Sing a last song ,for the lady who has gone .fertile source of guilt and pain ,The worst birth in the annals of Brooklyn

,Jamie MacCrystal sang to himself ;A broken song without tune, without words ,He tipped me a penny every pension day .Fed kindly crusts to winter birds

:All around, shards of a lost tradition From the Rough Field I went to school In the Glen of the Hazels. Close by ;Was the bishopric of the Golden Stone

All legendary obstacles lay between ,Us, the long imaginary plain The monstrous ruck of mountains ,And, swinging across the night

.All I can do is curse, complain I told you the flames would come and the small towns blaze. Though !Precious little you did about it