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PETE HAY
Sunset on the Irish Festival
(Port Arthur 1994)
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Spring:
the road flaunts wattle gold,
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with
pink and white skirts of heather.
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On
the white poplars little baby hands
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pick
at the light with pale, hooked fingers.
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At
Smith O'Brien's cottage daffodils
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throw
refrain to the buttercup light.
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It
is a time for mown parkland grass
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and
bold blooms in the Government Gardens.
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Just
so, the sun sets on the Irish Festival.
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It is
not a time to echo rebellion.
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A
girl sings of 'Hard Times'.
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'My
mother told me before she passed away
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Said
girl when I'm gone don't you forget to pray
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Cause
there'll be hard times...'
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The
man-caked walls gaze inscrutably down.
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'I
soon found out just what she meant
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When
I had to pawn my clothes just to pay the rent...'
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The
men at the Festival are of middle years,
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thin-shanked,
long-haired - curiously like the men of old,
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but
with a softness.
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The
walls seem to turn away -
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to
fix, with the sun, on Point Peur, on Dead Island.
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And
the girl says - seems to say -
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I'm
perfectly wise in the careworn ways
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of
the world. Y'know?
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'Oh man one of these days
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There'll
be no more sorrow, then when I pass away
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Be no
more hard times, no more hard times
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And
who knows better than I...'
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