They died here on the fields;
Hungry, wounded, alone.
Only stony walls knew their story.
It seemed no one else cared.
They cried there;
Hundreds of years washed
With thousands of tears,
And the dry stony walls cried with them.
The land saw their sadness
Took their pain and cried with them.
They thought no one else cared.
The winds blew,
Storms tormented the sky;
For heaven’s heart was moved with pain
So clouds brought the rain to cry with them.
Yes, they thought no one else cared,
But God wept as well.
Times have passed,
Clouds went dry
And new rains were on their way,
When a little bird flew to the fields,
Sat on a golden hair of grass
Gazing over the loss,
The famine pain,
And all that the land had in its veins.
And the bird sang a song so sweet,
Bringing light to all her voice would meet;
With compassionate tune this little angel gave its share
In this tragic affair.
People heard the tune so sweet,
Got up to their feet
And started to play:
Some played a harp,
Some tambourine or flute,
Others took violin or pipes to solute
A new tradition of hope that rose
They call it Irish music,
It’s livelier than any written prose.
Now you know the story
How rain came to this place,
But don’t ever forget that
When God cries
He offers both grace and embrace.
And when you cry know that too
Something similar in heaven is happening for you.
© Iva Beranek (2006)
Photo by © Iva Beranek