1916 The GPO

1916 The GPO

The GPO stood proud that day
Cold cast stone of blackish grey
British authorities evicted at last
A handful of men achieved that task

They held that fort and duly waited
To meet the wrath of the foe they hated
All fear lost in a courageous stance
A bullet in the pocket their only chance

Celtic warriors, no less were they
Behind the walls of the GPO’s facade
Expecting retaliation of a full British force
In their prime they had lived a full life’s course

They’d spill their blood to free our land
Though this would be their crucial stand
Thundering rolls of cannons on the cobble stone
The ferocity of the force to face not yet known

Holding tight onto their meager gun
Each bullet must count for they had but one
The British turned up in force outside
Their objective but one, to save their pride

They blasted many rounds of gunshot fire
Cannon balls enforcing their empire
The Irish, they just let them blast away
With single shots they made the British pay

John Hayden 2016

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Easter Rising 1916

Margaret Veale

She lay in bed that morning
No school on Easter Monday
Got up late for breakfast
Envisaged for herself a fun day

The radio unusually loud
Parents intently listening
As she sat and ate her breakfast
Ruling out the fun day she was envisioning

Maggie caught hold of the story
That the radio was broadcasting
Her parents said she was grounded
They didn’t know how long it would be lasting

She didn’t seem to mind too much
When her parents speculated it was starting
This talked about rebellion
That might see the British parting

It brought an air of excitement
For if the British were to go
She could play in spring, summer and autumn
And make snowmen in the snow

Maggie lived on lower Grand Canal Street
Where it meets with Haddington road
On a five way intersection
That was her families abode

In her pure excitement
And her dreamed possibilities
And hearing her parents exclaim
That the rebels took to the streets

After eating her breakfast
She asked to be excused
To return to her bedroom
So she could keep herself amused

When she had completed her chores
On the afternoon of that day
She excitedly returned to her bedroom
With no expectations to play

She only wished to have a peek
To see the rebels in action
She slowly approached her window
And pulled the curtain a fraction

In the lane at the back of her home
Thirteen year old Maggie saw the British
Margaret Veale was just a child
But she hated them to bits

Because they stole from her, her childhood
And her parents said they were bad
And every time that they were about
She got grounded, that made her sad

She looked out of her window
With her newly knitted green top
A British soldier took his gun
Thought she was a rebel and had a pop

Ten bullets to her body
She laid on her mattress on a ladder
Her family ran to Baggot Street hospital
With the news, she’d died, they were shattered

John Hayden 2016