From top end of fair “Glan” town,
Raising above the bogland brown.
Still hazel grove clearly seen,
Dividing that from grasslands green.

Features fair, sandhills and pond,
Winding stream and woods beyond.
History proud if you examine,
Ringfort, Mass rock and Great Famine.

A people longing to be free,
From hunger, landlord and hanging tree.
Ancient sites we now hold dear,
The haunted spots where ghosts appear.

Children played on hillside green,
Flowers to pick and wonders seen.
Wakes and weddings, gathered young and old,
Where songs were sung and stories told.

Ridges from hungry past are plain,
Their broken spirits toiled in vain.
Judgement stone where trial-a-mock,
Sins forgiven beside Mass rock.

In that hidden place beneath the crest,
Where little angels laid to rest.
Before life’s dawn their fate was sealed,
Slopes of pain, deep wounds unhealed.

Roots spread out o’er distant lands,
In a place of darkness, a flame was fanned.
Now beckons them home from far off place,
As features change with rapid pace.

For such a past, hills now atone,
In unminded heart much more than stone.
Now Esker nourishes fresh new life,
No more heart breaking, troubled strife.

Author: John Donlon, Esker