The games

Born from the legends of prestige lost
woven from the fire of Celtic soul
moulded by the spirit of An Ard Ri 
the games that assumed eternal role

confined to the caves of the subconscious
the legend faded as the pangs of hunger rose
the Earls fled but not the heart of old Erin
transfigured in the blood of silent pose

So many scattered like tumbleweed to the oppressor
our tongue subverted, our creed did follow suit
bare and bruised but mind never broken
for hope springs from fertile dreams of youth

Then from one Thurles day came creations
spawned from a revival of the Gael
games to bring a sense of self from the ash heap
with fire in the blood it did not fail

Rising tide to bring a sense of freedom
yet troubled thought created much divide
the games grew despite the pain and confusion
as each parish proudly stood side by side

The mighty ash brought skill so awe inspiring
strength aplenty in those great football men
soon new names did echoe around the valleys
the games bore so many tales for one to pen

The games evolved as the years so demanded
Croke Park days a source of joy for young and old
hopefully gone are the days of the sectarian
let the games be always there to have and hold.