The old man came down from the top of O'Connell Street .
It was sometime after midnight as the rain fell down .

We met there at Moore Street where he put his arms around me , with tears in his eyes he said,
" I love this old town"

I looked at the old man
and took up my guitar then I played some of the old songs as my fingers went numb .

The cold wind blew my song through the city, round every corner went the notes my guitar had just strummed .

The rain eased a little and the wind died down , then the old man shook my hand and very proudly said to me.

"Dublin's my city, she's hard, but she's pretty . Dublin's like the heart that keep's beating here deep inside of me "

I whispered a prayer as he walked away in the night
"God look out for that old man ,
I don't even know his name .

Heaven knows how it goes . In Dublin city there's a whisper and a prayer on every breath that ever came.

By Paul McCann