Rebellions are strange and strange not cheap.
I mean you know the one we had in Ireland
Just half a century ago.
All we wanted was to get what was ours:
Ireland for the Irish “from the sod to the sky.”
Strange, how people you’d think knew better
Balk when it comes to some things.
There they were in Ypres
Fighting the Germans for Serbia
While at home in their own backyard
Another small nation (the “province” conscripted)
Not seeking justice from Nazis
Shouted wrong to the winds.
Odd it was to be sure. What can you say for them
But the old habit was hard to break
Though break it must. That was set down
When Pearse knelt long one knight before he knew
And swore he’d die for Ireland:
One man enough, sang Mac Dara.
Yes, rebellions are strange and oh dear: dear.
Imagine the price of a capital in smoke.
“Nothing like it since Moscow,” and Plunkett in the GPO
Beamed round at eyes tired wondering under raised brows
Not remembering Buonaparte.
Excerpt from the Sister Rita Prendergast’s Poem: Perspective: 1916-1966. Sister Rita’s poem won the national prize in Ireland in 1966 when Ireland celebrated its independence from England after a too-long oppressive colonization.
To read the full poem, and others, request your copy of Sister Rita’s book here: http://www.amormeus.org/en/publications/