by Arthur Stringer
Says O'Curran to me wid a bitthersome eye,
Watchin' the wather that'd flooded his sty,
And blinkin' up into a girlin' moist sky:
" Ochone and me heart is that heavy, me lad!
Aroo, and I'll niver be laughin' again;
For the world holds nothin' but what's gone bad,
And I'm losin' me pigs wid the rain!
And I've worried it out to the bitthermost end;
I see it as plain as the nose on your face.
Och, we go to our grave wid niver a friend —
And I'm tired av this throublesome place! "
Says O'Curran to me wid a shmile and a wink
Afther I'd passt him me bit av a drink,
And he'd studied the sky and shtarted to think:
" Sure, it's fine to be shtandin' and takin' your ease,
And watchin 'the Hivens fair rainin' wid joy!
Faith, it's good to be livin' on mornin's like these —
'Tis a laughin' ould world, me boy!
For faith, if wan couldn't be ailin' a bit
We'd niver be feelin' the other way, lad;
We'd niver know joy and be achin' for it,
And niver be jiggin' and glad! "
And he looked out at me wid a chirrupy eye
And I passt him the bottle in over the sty
Where his drown'd pigs pointed their feet to the sky!
Last updated September 07, 2017