Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth

Home is not a word

When we left, or fled, or fell in the ditches,
We became the gap in the triangle
Between Galway, Offaly and Tipp.

Hung, starved, and evicted, our lands confiscated
We were vanished for an alien economic convenience
There are no words in Irish for "it is mine".

Is liomsa é. It is with me

Where once were Larkins, Muintir Uí Lorcáin,
As many Larkins as salmon in the mighty flowing Shannon
We were thousands and thousands strong
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