Untitled poem.

The comfort of the light

Is not which one they feel

In the kingdom of our glass cities

Without warmth, without light, what is life?

In the shadow of our kingdom, they lie

As winters comes the cold begins to bite

One, after the other, they start to die

In our outrage and despair, we cannot even cry

All is not yet lost

Our grief will be our weapon

Our struggle will ignite

The people of Ireland

We will fly

On wings of freedom

Towards a Republic, of liberty and life.

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