Michael

Johnny McEvoy

The curlew stood silent and unseen
In the long damp grass
And he looked down on the road below him
That wound its way through Baile na Blath
And he heard the young men shouting and cursing
Running backwards and forwards
Dodging and weaving and ducking the bullets
That rained down on them
From the hillside opposite

Just as quickly as it started the firing stopped
And a terrible silence hung over the valley
A lone figure lay on the roadside
In the drizzling August rain
Dressed in green great-coat
Leggings and brown hob-nailed boots
That would never again
Set the sparks flying from the kitchen flagstones
As he danced his way through a half-set

A hurried, whispered act of contrition
And the firing breaks out again
The curlew takes to flight
And as he flies out over the empty sad fields of west Cork
With his lonesome call
He must tell the world
That the big fellow has fallen
And that Michael is gone

On a far off August day cold young men in ambush lay
On a roadside by a hill where flowers grow
So much hate for one so young who was right and who was wrong
Though a thousand years may pass we’ll never know

Candles dripping blood they placed beside your shoulders
Rosary beads like teardrops on your fingers
Friends and comrades standing by in their grief they wonder why
Michael in their hour of need you had to go

And when evening twighlight came gently fell the autumn rain
Oh but you lay still and silent on the ground
As we hung our heads in prayer in our sorrow and despair
We wondered was it friend or foe who shot you down

Now the flame that you held high when you called out to the sky
To end this senseless killing and this shame
Has now passed to other hands and is carried through the land
By some not fit to even speak your name

Michael, in their hour of need why did you go?