Hillside Home
On the Hillside
Over the City of the Tribes
We gaze out over
The gently swelling Galway Bay
and the granite Giants of the Burren
hovered in melting mists.
We lower our eyes in homage
and see, at our feet and
all around us and our children
The filth and destruction
In which we are forced to exist.
Rats dart, disease spreads,
Hugh holes gouged out by
The sharp spikes of machines
Sent by citymen
To terrify us into leaving,
Where shall we go
Now that every grassy place
Dies in a hail of concrete?
Only the sight of Bay and Burren
Saves us from Utter Despair.

Travellers ­ The Bitter Facts

Feileann spallaí do bhallaí chomh maith le clocha móra.
Spalds (small stones) suit walls as well as big ones.

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