Writers Ireland’s spirit caught
Web of words in which they sought
The Ireland in their eyes that aught
Some said the Ireland of the day
Was decadent and lost its way
Moral and ethical decay
Lost in a swirling mist.
Other stated Ireland was oppressed
By church to which sins were confessed
Of times when with others undressed
A most natural unsinful thing.
Ireland today still wrangles identity
Some think us too liberal like me
More think we without restraints should be
So in pain in words we sing.
The eternal song of the writers chant
In rhyming and in free verse cant
In which common sense if often scant
Our words the idle readers read..
The tides at shore ebb and flow
In and out in turn they go…
Which writers are right we will never know…
The debate we will not concede!