The Spirit of Old Dublin – Liam Fitzpatrick
Cathedral shadow, from moonlight’s gleam,
Casts a shape on world serene.
This ghost of Swift , through gardens green
Walks the park at midnight.
My spirit moves, on paths now bare.
With dormant life and inner stare
A world now changed, but yet the same,
With troubles still, of war and pain
As in my time, long now gone.
The poor still weak, the rich still strong.
What might it take, myself I ask,
For men to know, that life will pass.
Not like a flower to bloom and please,
And then to die, with sweet unease.
But man perverse, will not adjust,
To God’s request or Nature’s thrust.
He will persist, with lack of thought,
To exploit still the lives he’s bought.
His wealth exceeds his earthly want,
He yet submits to earthly greed.
Life has not changed, this ghost concedes.
Man’s still the same, with wants and needs.
Maybe with time, and God’s will,
He may improve, and may still win.
But for now to rest, in silent tomb,
In Patrick’s church, near Dublin’s Coombe.
Perhaps to walk some night again,
And ponder on the fates of men.