Barbados Chest in a Molly Cottage
Barbados chest, in a Molly cottage
Plantation agent, on a Carribean isle
Long lost, and tales of wild travels there
Remembered, told in pieces with a smile
History horrific, we stop not to think
Of those who struggled, laboured on the plantations yoke
Free now to remember the tears of their fathers before
We not as we should with guilt our words choke…
We talk in wonder only of an exotic chest
As if it contained treasure there from childish tails
When its owner, ancestor of she with the lovely garden
Brought it back to Ireland neath billowing sails.
One of many of his name, one of many of his kind
Not the first of his kind to cross the high Atlantic wave
Pirates, privateer’s, slaver’s, can these really be our folk
That made their fortune in such a way depraved?