Poetry Corner

John Tobin

JOHN TOBIN   Thank you for the memories That you have given me, Your life with May and Rody In your home in Boherbee.   My head is filled with happy times, I can see them still so clear, When I close my eyes at night time So many things seem near.   Cutting timber…

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THE SPORTING SILVERMINES

THE SPORTING SILVERMINES (To the air of “The Wearing of the Green”) Here’s three cheers for North Tipperary boys Those heroes brave and true, Who showed themselves in every field That ever they went to. And here now in their praises I will pen those simple lines, All honour to the famous club The Sporting…

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THE RAMBLING SOW FROM GARRYGLASS

THE RAMBLING SOW FROM GARRYGLASS There is a man in Garryglass, who keeps a rambling sow, His name I will not mention for fear ‘twould cause a row. Some of the sow’s adventures now to you I will relate, She got hungry on a winter’s day; she had nothing for to ate. Says the sow…

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SILVERMINES

SILVERMINES EDWARD FORDE Go out the road from Nenagh town, And climb the hill that leads to Glown, Pause when you reach the mountain’s crown, And gaze ‘round at the splendour. The valley that is Glenculoo, The Arra hills of purple hue, Lough Derg reflecting skies of blue, Are wonders to be seen there. The…

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Paddy Collins

PADDY COLLINS MICHAEL O’BRIEN He lived up from the metal bridge, in the townland of Mountisland, Some of his fields are level ground, but most of them are high land. In Samuel Brindley’s former home, Paddy Collins was the resident, He was a farming and a hurling man, and our esteemed GAA club president. A…

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MY YOUTH IN TIPPERARY

MY YOUTH IN TIPPERARY  Patrick J Hill   I am thinking of a dear old spot, in Ireland o’er the sea, I see it in my dreams a lot, it still seems home to me. There I spent my boyhood days, the glens I did explore, While the sun beamed down its warm rays o’er…

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Lament for Thomas Mc Donagh

Lament for Thomas Mc Donagh ………..Francis Ledwidge He shall not hear the bittern cry In the wild sky, where he is lain Nor voices of the sweeter birds, Above the wailing of the rain   Nor shall he know when loud March blows Thro’ slanting snows her fanfare shrill, Blowing to flame the golden cup…

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