John Montague

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

.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

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

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

: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