‘IN EMPTY FIELDS’
In empty fields and withered walls
I feel the present past,
Of sailing ships who sped away
The young, the old, the first, the last
The seas, the tides which swept the lands,
To new born nations waiting
The hungry masses rushing on,
The pain of emigration
The broken lives, the emptied land,
The crops which failed and died
The hungry mouths, the saddened eyes,
The empty beds where children cried
On darkened nights and whispering winds
I hear the songs they sang
The lingering echoes in empty ruins,
Where joyous voices rang
BY
MARY CECIL
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