from Mary Hynes (fallon’s version) as read by liam clancy

lough lene

“Bless your poet then and let him go!
He’ll never stack a haggard with his breath:
His thatch of words will not keep rain or snow
Out of the house, or keep back death.
But Raftery, rising, curses as he sees you
Stir the fire and wash delph,
That he was bred a poet whose selfish trade it is
To keep no beauty to himself.”

and adapted by myself as good as ever expalination as to why i write