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Stilled again across the canals broadening Girth; Mesh cages of rock-filled Gabions Reinforcing patches of exposed and arid earth, Reflecting the glints that gleefully Twist and dance in the hot glare of the sun... Provoking images and stirring indefinable feelings That begin to irrevocably up and run; Pictures and voices crowding into my mind: Immersing me in the flooding moments To which i am briefly resigned. Now momentarily staid by the shimmering Instance In which i find myself inextricably caught, Perplexed by something rather intangible, Seeming almost to tease and laugh Whilst confounding upon my evasive and Fleeting thoughts; As glancing across at the opposite bank Where drawn up a line of densely packed trees.. I swore...I heard the reel of a high squealing Fiddle - Playing ever so briefly alongside a tricky little Breeze. For stood there I, wondering, On a grey painted swing-bridge: Of brightly painted Steamers, dirty Trampers And of double masted white canvassed Brigs. Oh! The everlasting glory of a New World order Redefined: Entrusted to those instructed in her Majesties Construction of sprawling Victorian sublimes! The men who heroically dug, picked, blasted and Strove: To securely fasten an Iron cast girdle around An ever diminishing blue globe. Dreaming of long ago, dutiful, Golden-Age days Rigorously pursued down, what are now, Weed strewn, abandoned byways. Faustian clothing and a Velveteens cap; The thick buckled leather gaiters held about By the strap. Many the word spoken in a soft southern brogue: All hail the glorious navigators - The navvies of old! Staunch and desperate men forced to resign Their native Gaelic shores And burden unto themselves with Mattocks, shovels and garishly painted-up whores. Under the high flaming beacons And over the obscure little brow - They carved out the new waterways To float the laden down prow. Yes! Men of the Emerald Isles I salute you and your kinsfolk From lands cast westwards afar: The magnificent "Paddies" from the verdant island - Of Erin-Go-Bragh!
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