© Joe Canning 2018. All Rights Reserved.
I speak of Robert Emmet
And the words he had to say
Before the black hat sent him
To an unknown place in clay
The words that Gael and hero spoke
To those that took his life,
To those who broke the heart of Sarah.
She who’d be his wife.
Without a marker, cross or stone
The bones of Emmet lie,
No flower adorns his resting place
But gently rests the fallen leaf,
And somewhere melts the snows
Where he lies in peaceful patience
Till his epitaph be known.
Where I to find that sward of green,
I’d whisper silent prayers,
No doubt with him I would converse,
And the situation tell,
Inform him I would surely do,
That men have carried on,
And too those treasured patriots
The brave Cumann na mBan
‘Tis surely now a certainty
His cause will see fruition
Deliverance and freedom comes,
An undivided nation.
So rest Sir in your patience,
Soon scribes will praise thy name
Your breath will stir the fallen leaf,
When Ireland hails thy name.
Image | Robert Emmet Memorial, St. Catherine’s Church, Dublin