On the Bridge of Athlone: A Prophecy
On the Bridge of Athlone: A Prophecy
I SEE them a mother and daughter
At dusk in a grass-grown laneAn old road from nowhere to nowhereWhere time has been slainA mother and daughter raggedAnd brown as a bird on a treeHair tangled and coarse as the bushesEye clear as the seaAnd the land is a sea all about themA green sea of grasses and treesA pole like the mast of a wrecked shipTrails its wires in the breezeAnd the only things living are insectsAnd rabbits grown strong againAnd the women haggard as madmenFrom hunger and rainAnd the daughter comes running and cryingI saw on the Bridge of AthloneA man O mother a man thereAnd he’s passed and is gone again.And men are so few now in IrelandThat mother and daughter cryAs one might mourn the last angelA kingfisher gone byAnd they weep for the land that is desolateGreen and empty that once was hard wonLot’s daughters with no Lot and no wine-cupTo get them a son.
