|Harvest Time from The National Library Of Ireland|
O land of plenty,land of few,
Your emerald crown covers you,
Your terrible waste of fertile soil,
That sends its produce abroad to spoil!.
Let sense prevail in your fair land,
Store your crops for future clans,
Store them strong and store them well,
Prides may swell!
Our History in its past,
The jewels in its arts,
Don't fence it in,
Just let it grow,
In the after glow.
The blight that hit us long ago
Drove us from the homes we know,
But that is gone, long past by.
Is it right that it should affect us now?
So put away your pesticides of hate,
Stand tall ,have pride in your state,
Gently gather in your crops
For now the killing
Has got to
Submitted to dVerse Poets for their Open Lnk Night