Sweet island of Ireland , how deep are your scars?
Your children are weeping and weary of wars;
The shamrock is wilted, it cries tears of blood red;
It weeps as your sons and your daughters lie dead.
Sweet island of Ireland when will you know peace?
When will the pain and the suffering cease?
If only our patron was again close at hand
He would drive all the snakes once more from our land.
Sweet island of Ireland the wind whispers low;
And tells of the heartaches your people have known.
Your mountains and valleys cry out in deep pain
For the suffering of those so brutally slain.
Sweet island of Ireland the time must draw near
When all of your people live without fear.
And when that day comes - please God make it soon -
The shamrock will spring once again into bloom.
by Billy Neeson © 2000
Member of Poets Who Care U.K.