Blessed In Erris

Conceived there

But not born there

I’ve being going back all my life

To Mayo and to Erris by the sea

At six months old they carried me

And placed me cradle warm

And Nan crossed me with iron

Safe from harm

 

And people there know people

What else would you do?

The land is poor

The people rich in grace

Lives were intermingled

Work and Mass and dance

Walking in the air

Chat when you get the chance

 

When people die in Erris

Everybody knows

Messages are sent

To Mid West Radio

People in big cities

Can die and no one cares

But in the wilds of Erris

You’re in everybody’s prayers

 

Brian Fahy

9 November 2021

 

+ One morning In Glencullen, at six months old, I was sleeping in my cradle near the fireside. My grandmother was watching over me. Needing to go outside and leaving me alone in the house, she put the iron tongs across my cradle to protect me from the Little People. The day I was told that story I felt an adrenalin rush in my body, like the warmth of my grandmother’s love embracing me.

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