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Frank Patterson
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Galway Bay
If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,
Yet maybe at the closing of your days,
You may sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh,
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay.
Just to hear again the ripple of a trout stream,
The women in the meadows making hay,
Just to sit beside a turf fire in a cabin,
And watch the barefoot gossoons at their play.
For the breezes blowing o'er the sea from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as they blow,
And the women in the uplands digging praties,
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Speak a language that the strangers do not know.
For the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways,
They scorned us just for being what we are.
But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams,
Or light a penny candle from a star.
And if there's going to be a life hereafter,
And somehow I am sure there's going to be,
I will ask my God to let me make my heaven
In that dear land across the Irish Sea.
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