An Irish Dream

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Today I drink and ne’er again will be sober,

Till I cross the sea that lays before me

And swim ashore on foreign land.

There to rest my aching body

Neath the stars that’ll shine on me.


Fare you well my friends and neighbours,

Drink my health and wish me well.

One day we’ll drink together

On that shore beyond the sea.


Green and yellow wave behind me

Fly me high and take me far.

Cast my dreams before my journey

Let no memory of me scar


Blow you wind against the barley

Sway light you golden ears

Play the music soft and low

Dry away your sorrowful tears.


Today you drink and ne’er again be sober

In this land beyond the sea

The grave you view is barren and empty

Cos that dream still lives in me


Speak my name and toast me plenty

On this Island in the sea!


Oh Mary dear, come you back in summer

Paint the meadows green with rain

Warm sun to colour yellow

Then dig the hole and hide the blame.

Rolling shadows, flowing mountains,

Silent valleys, deepest sea

Dreams unfolding all before you,

Visions that only we can see.


Unfurl the flag, play the pipes.

Soulful melody, stills the air.

Until we reach that land that waits us.

Can you see it over there?


Today you drink and ne’er again be sober

In this land beyond the sea

The grave you view is barren and empty 

Cos that dream still lives in me

Speak my name and toast me plenty

On this Island in the sea!


Oh Mary dear, come you back in summer

Paint the meadows green with rain

Warm sun to colour yellow

Then dig the hole and hide the blame.


Today we’ll drink and ne’er again be sober

In this land beyond the sea

We’ll pick all the four-leaf clover

Wear it proud so all can see.

Speak the name and toast it plenty

Of this Ireland in the sea!


© 2015, Danny Kemp All rights reserved.

 

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About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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