Written by Father (James) Ed Feeney, son of James Feeney and Margaret McLaughlin, sister to our ancestor Leo McLaughlin. John Seggerson sent this to Cairril.
What shall I say about the Irish, the utterly,
impractical, never predictable, sometimes
irascible, quite inexplicable – Irish.
Strange blend of shyness, pride and conceit,
And stubborn refusal to bow in defeat.
He’s spoiling and ready to argue and fight,
Yet the smile of a child fills his soul with delight.
His eyes are the quickest to well up with tears,
Yet his strength is the strongest to banish your fears.
His hate is as fierce as his devotion is grand,
And there’s no middle ground on which he will stand.
He’s wild and he’s gentle, he’s good and he’s bad,
He’s proud and he’s humble, and he’s happy and sad.
He’s in love with the ocean, and earth and the skies,
He’s enamored with beauty, wherever it lies.
He’s victor and victim, a star and a clod,
But mostly he’s Irish, in love with his God.
-Reverend Father Edward Feeney