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Hard Times

There was a terrible stillness and a dense blue fog
over broken down fences and ubiquitous bog
somehow we managed to survive the famine
six of us huddled together in a five shilling cabin
Michael, Thomas, Julia and dear little Mary
on a tiny parcel of land in south Tipperary
watching my sweet Wife Mary lay down her pretty head
on piles of filthy straw that serves as our bed
all that we owned was a Pig and a manure heap
we did the sowing but there was nothing left to reap
we depended on Potatoes to keep us alive
all that was about to change in black '45
from dawn to dusk we would work hard in the field
we handled the 'taint' and 'curl' but still got our yield
one day Mary came in sobbing, her head in her shawl
" there's nothing left Rodger, the blight's taken it all! "
We appealed for help, our poverty was dire
we didn't even have the wood to light a fire
My friend good Mr Mitchell tried to explain our situation
for this he was exile…