Thurles Information

                         ^{The Emigrant’s Last Farewell, Alfred Grey RHA, Irish Artist, 1845 – 1926.}

An Emigrant’s Dream  (© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.)

The pictures in mind are enthralling, as you count the days to go home,
As you sit and ponder the vista that’s a vision almighty bar none.
The faces and places of childhood that were once so familiar at school.
Oh, come back, come back to the wild wood, for the world has been playing the fool.

You get on the plane or the boat then your heart nigh exploding with joy,
Come back, come back to the wild wood, where once you played as a boy,
Come back to the quiet, dusty roadways where you hurled at night before bed,
Near the old sweet shop on the corner, frequented by ‘boyos’ now dead.
The song is bursting the heart strings, the memories flood into the soul,
Come back, come back to the wild wood, for the world has been playing the fool.

Ah, the dreaming, the dreaming destroys you, with your heart half at home and away.
Like all of our race it’s the dreaming that can never right take you away.
And amid all the grandeur and plenty and the glories not heard of at school.
Sings the wind: “Come back to the wild wood, for the world has been playing the fool.”

The old ways have changed ah but little, there’s a poorness of many a kind.
Yet, as the days to go way draw nearer, your heart takes over your mind.
For, though happy enough in the new land, that has given you more than the rule,
O’er the din of the plane goes that old refrain, “Come back, come back you fool.”

Ah, me but the heart is a torment, you’re doing all right over there,
And there’s little enough or nothing in the land that caused you care.
But for all the dark desperation, and your tongue can be thorny cruel,
There’s the beat of an air, so near despair, “The world has played the fool”.

In that land away from the wild wood, you make with a proud strong face,
As you ply your trade and charms parade for another kind of race.
You are so proud of the land behind, as you sit on a high posh stool,
But the song that lasts long is on your mind, “Ah, the world has played the fool.”     END.

Tom Ryan “Iona” Rahealty, Thurles, County Tipperary.

To Absent Ones At Christmas – By Author & Poet Tom Ryan

We shall not, in drawing up to the red-coaled fire
In a profusion of spirits in the hollied room,
Your presence dishonour with forgetfulness,
But rather shall we in music and wine
And in the memory of another place and happy time,
Toast you, our absent ones.

Nor as the carols reach to the Christmas stars
In praise of the glorious grandeur of the world,
Nor as children’s voices herald a new awakening,
Shall we forget the warmth
Of a time of togetherness,
But in a quiet prayer, pure as snow crystals,
Give thanks for what you were to our hearts
For what you’ll ever be
Unto the last Yuletide.

So, in a good spirit,
Glad for the plenty and the peace,
Joyous for our family and our friends.
With all the people of the earth
And in our merriment and mirth
We do remember you, our dear and absent ones.

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles. Co. Tipperary, Republic of Ireland.
From “Cherry Blossoms” by Tom Ryan.