Kinsey Millhone owned a single black dress
And wore it whenever she'd need it.
If you were a fan, you'd know all of her quirks,
For the alphabet books guaranteed it.
From "A is for Alibi" right up to "Y"
For "Yesterday," Kinsey did capture
The hearts of all readers, who counted the days
'Til the next book delivered its rapture.
Though Kinsey was fictional, she was entwined
With Sue Grafton, who made her seem living.
Like all her devotees, I owe Grafton thanks
For the joy that for years she's been giving.
The news just came down that Sue Grafton has died,
A loss for the world and for me,
Especially since when I catch up with "Y,"
There will be no more waiting for "Z."
Irelands capital Dublin, it's a beautiful city
Famous for its Guinness and Jameson's whiskey
The Temple bar area for music and the 'craic'
Many say on departing "one day I'll be back".
Molly Malone can be seen, with her wheelbarrow
In busy Grafton street that's so bustling and narrow
The silvery grey water's of the river Liffey
Flows right through the city and into the sea.
Busy O'Connell street with its giant spire
Had troubled times with the sound of gunfire
The spire now stands where Nelsons column stood
A reminder of British rule that's now gone for good.
The symbol of self rule the G.P.O. stands
So peaceful now all you hear is the bands
The Halfpenny bridge is a wonderful sight
Even more impressive when lit up at night.
So come on over to Dublin, do come and see
Do indulge yourself, with some Irish hospitality
When the time comes to leave after your stay
You'll promise yourself to comeback one day.
16 May 2018
DUBLIN GALLOWS
DowN from Grafton Street near St. Stephen's Green,
I'd hear her cry sometimes til first of dawn,
the love o'me life, me lassie, me queen,
an' every blow that brought her cryin' on.
I'd give me own life to make her me bride,
but she married a scabber fit and mean,
from courtin' the lie an' winnin' her side,
though the truth was known near St. Stephen's Green.
Jack lent his strap in his warped state of mind,
to her back, and I'd feel it, every blow,
an' all Dublin knew, I was hard to find
reason why I shouldn't let me rage go.
They hanged many men in St. Stephen's Green,
not one of them more fittin' for the tree,
than Jack with his strap, for beatin' me queen,
but who hanged Jack's not part of history.
Sleep gently, me lassie,
tonight there's just the breeze
we'll hear til the comin o' dawn.
Sleep softly, me lassie,
I'll whisper through the trees,
I couldn't let your beatin' go on.
© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet