They came in ships in search of gold,
They were bred for war and frigid cold,
Steeped in steel, with weapons ready,
As they sailed with zeal through Ireland’s Levees

Longships sang, of song and story.
Of battles won and thirst for glory.
Of raven gods and mighty Thor,
And a tree of life that’s streaked in lore.

The arms of brothers, clad in mail,
Sat beneath a windswept sail,
Up through Shannon’s silky trail,
Lit up by moonlight, milky pale

And sleepy monks, they never knew,
As they knelt and prayed in chapel pews.
They would die this day, cut down and slewed
Their relics melted down and used,
To decorate their braids and belts and shoes.

The panic grew, and spread like sick,
And peasants armed themselves with sticks.
And stones that cause no harm to bones,
Were killed defending farms and homes.

Then Banished by the crack of morn.
Like night time specters, drenched by dawn,
Leaving bodies broke on tended lawns,
With nobody left to bend and mourn.

Women taken home as slaves,
Less freedom than the cows that grazed,
To spend their days as whores, afraid,
And scorned by high born men and maids.

And back they came, attacked and pillaged
Every seasick shack and village.
Axes thrown and hammers lifted.
By the hands of Danes, skilled and gifted.

But soon the Irish looked to arms.
To defend their glens, and fens and farms,
Took back their cattle, controlled their shores
Through bloody battles and years of wars.

By Jaymes Moynihan
instagram/yellowgrenade
© James Moynihan