|
| |
The Olde City of Cork
At the Butter Exchange
Is grand commerce in motion
Yet be under no illusion
Of the merchant’s potion
‘Clip, Clop,’
Go horses’ shoes
On the cobble stones of Lancaster Quay
From nearby office windows
Proprietors observe with glee
The little children of Sunday’s Well
Are taught a well-known adage
That they must hold their balance
Whilst traversing Daly’s Bridge
Great ships unload boxes of tea
Outside the Customs House
Bringing Ceylon’s finest
To the financier’s spouse
When evening strikes
The Savings Bank closes
And across the river
An alderman’s motion proposes
The Corporation tram
Carries the workers to dinner
Their journey brightened
By a passing street singer
Yet throughout the city
Lies an abundance of misery
A reminder of poverty
And economic bewitchery
Copyright ©
Tadgh Quill-Manley
|
|