Bertie Of The Golden Hand

After James Clarence Mangan

I walked entranced
Through a land of morn.
The sun, with wondrous excess of light,
Shone down and smiled
On seas of corn
And happy homes to the left and right.
Even in the clime
Of resplendent Spain,
Beams no such sun upon such a land,
But it was the time;
Those were the days
Of Bertie of the Golden Hand

The taxes were low,
The wages high;
And businesses boomed as by a spell.
Office blocks rose up
That pierced the sky,
And happy were the homes where the people dwelt.
All existing disputes
Were there resolved,
And peace took hold across the land,
For it was the time;
Those were the days
Of Bertie of the Golden Hand.

 Now I seek the Dáil,
But, behold, a change
From light to dark, from joy to woe;
The TDs, all,
Look aghast and strange;
The government sits in dumbest show.
Has some great plague
Wrought this dread amaze,
As homeless folk now stalk the land:
Gone is the time;
Gone are the days
Of Bertie of the Golden Hand.

Dream Diary: Hornpipes