A poem about the great potato famine in Ireland.
The potatoes are all rotten in the ground
and we’ve nothing else to eat
All around northern Ireland is famine and disease
And sure “tis death that we”ll all be
Wanting to cheat
The strong and courageous are walking to southern port cities
To board the English death ships
They’ll cross the Atlantic in search of Canada
Though many are too famished to survive the trip
The dead will be cast overboard to rest in the sea
Their names and faces remembered by family
The survivors will have bitter tales to tell
And will hand down their memories of
The motherland where so many grand
Souls from hunger and disease fell
The truth shall be handed down to each generation
That with being Irish comes the responsibility
Of remembering the past, honoring the dead
And remaining a gentle, loving people
It is more than the proper thing to do
It is our moral obligation
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