Classic Poem

Some hundred fifty years ago
A young man left his home;
Good-bye to hills of Ireland,
To make it on his own.
At age eighteen, he had no fear
To cross the ocean wide,
Although he made the trip alone,
With no one by his side.

His storm-tossed ship went off its course,
So, Boston was its end.
He went ashore, with Irish luck,
And found himself a friend.
His benefactor sheltered him
And taught him all he knew.
Young Thomas Walsh was learning
All the things good tradesmen do.

His 'Irish luck' continued,
As he made another move
To New York City's busy streets,
With more success to prove.
'Twas there he found an Irish lass,
Who came from over there.
They wed, and started family,
With tender loving care.

Two decades later, Walshes were
Back on the move again:
Two hundred thirty miles down south,
By rolling railroad train.

The lovely house of Burgundy
Was their Virginia home.
From there the Walshes, Tom and Mary,
Never more would roam.