I AM THE ANCIENT COTTAGE

 

Do you hear the calling of the wind

as towards me it floats and roars.

Do you hear the crashing of the Atlantic

As it rushes home to shore?

Do you hear the rustling of the fields

and the straining of the land?

I am the ancient cottage

and in silence here I stand.

 

Do you hear the urgent cry

of the lovers on the bed?

Do you hear the call of children

demanding to be fed?

Do you hear the cutting of the plough

and the planting of tomorrow?

I am the ancient cottage

witness to joy and sorrow.

 

Do you see here come the soldiers

with their bayonets and their guns,

obeying London orders

that their empire must be won

Do you see there sits the coffin ship

to separate man and wife

to bring misery and hardship

and ruin many lives.

 

Do you see those little children

and the strength behind their eyes?

Do you see that it is inevitable

that one day they will rise

and demand an education,

accepting coffin ships no more

telling any passing soldiers

“ This is OUR Atlantic shore!”

 

Yes, I am the ancient cottage

I’ve seen generations come and go

I’ve heard their names

joined in their games

and watched their children grow.

I’ve seen the dawn of electricity

heard the aeroplane’s skyward groan

I’ve been abandoned for modern bungalows

I’m just a pile of bricks and stone

 

But I am the ancient cottage

I have children far and wide

and though they may be far away

I am always at their side.

Some sit in fancy offices

in London or New York,

Some teach in Letterkenny

others run a bar in Cork.

Some help propel spacecraft

up to those shinning stars

and others they make engines

for those fancy German cars.

 

My children’s children are long gone

they have roamed the seven seas

gone to all the corners of the earth

and scattered on the breeze

But no matter where they wander

what they achieve, or are their goals

I am the ancient cottage

I am the keeper of their souls.

 

 

I am the ancient cottage

I’ve seen life born within my stones,

I’ve seen the young grow old

and I have buried many bones

But I still hear Atlantic waves

crashing down below

I am the keeper of many secrets

and there is many a tale I know.

 

So dear visitor, do you want to hear

the best story I can tell?

It involves the wind, the fields, the birds

and that relentless ocean swell.

It is a story full of triumph,

dignity and pride

A story to be proud of –

just stand silently by my side.

 

Do you hear the calling of the wind?

as towards us it floats and roars.

Do you hear the crashing of the Atlantic?

as it rushes home to shore?

Do you hear the rustling of the fields

and know now what you always knew

Yes, I am the ancient cottage

And my best story …… is you!

 

 

 

Jim McGinley

29^th September 2017