Classic Poem

Black luck upon you Seamus Mac-an-Bhaird
Who shut the door upon a poet
Nor put red wine and bread upon the board;
My song is greater than your hoard,
Although no running children know it
Between the sea and the windy stones.

Yet, Seamus of the Bards, when you are dead
And a curragh carries out the new coffin,
Heavy with you within, heavy with lead,
Because you let song go unfed,
The waves will roughen near Inisbofin
And moan around your lonely bones.