~ by Charles A. Coulombe
O’Neill was his Gaelic name,
Scion of proud chiefs of Ulster;
The land his grandfather left.
When he was drunk his mates
Carried him, and said, “Ah well,
He’s Irish.”
But never had he seen the land of
His father’s calling home.
Land of the valiant Red-Branch Knights,
Land of the Roisin Dubhe.
When he said “Erin Go Bragh!” he
meant a mystic fairy land,
East of the Sun,
West of the Moon.
His speech was more of Bow than Derry,
Cockney than proud Antrim.
For lack of money, he joined
the army of
the queen
Off to Crossmaglen, Britain’s Vietnam.
He found his heritage at the end of a
bullet from the bold
IRA
His mother said her Rosary, wept freely
at the news.
“Private Terence O’Neill, killed in action,
In the service of Her Majesty the Queen