In The Small Hours: On Distant Shores
John Brian Leaver's poem captures the anguish and injustice of enforced migration.
I must go,
where cliff birds wheel,
and redeem a low cot there,
footings shaped by forebears,
proud gables cut foursquare
Winter's bite has left its mark
on stone, jamb and thatch,
once a home to MacSeanloaich
and his drilled potato patch
His view was wide and handsome,
Croagh Patrick's pilgrims' way,
silver strands to Roonah
o'er a dappled, moody, bay
Yet, all was lost to hunger,
a bitter, blighted land;
expelled to far Van Diemen's
by England's vengeful hand
He sleeps by pensive waters,
lapped by Macquarie Sound,
a penal hell for Erin's sons
from Skibbereen to Down
I must go,
to a fulmar's chide,
and right an age-old wrong,
where blithely flares the peat Song.
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