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Memorials
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THE LITTLE WHITE CROSS Frank O'Donovan Once I saw by the wayside a little white cross At the bend of the road near Clonree, By wild grass overgrown and half covered with moss, 'Neath a twisted old white hawthorn tree, And it bore no proud name, nor yet even a prayer Save an almost effaced "R.I.P." All forgotten by those e'en who planted it there At the bend of the road near Clonree.
And the summer sun shines and the winter winds blow Round the bend of the road near Clonree, There's a pall of white blossoms or mantle of snow, 'Neath that twisted old white hawthorn tree. But I wonder who sleeps 'neath that little white cross With an almost effaced "R.I.P." By wild grass overgrown and half covered with moss At the bond of the road near Clonree.
Some bold ambush that failed ! Some young hero who died At the bend of the road near Clonree. Giving all to uphold Erin's honour and pride, 'Neath that twisted old white hawthorn tree. No reward but to sleep 'neath that little white cross With an almost effaced "R.I.P." By wild grass overgrown and half covered with moss At tiie bend of the road near Clonree.
Oh! we owe not to Ireland's famed leaders alone The great debt of a land that is free, But to martyrs like him who now sleeps all unknown, 'Neath that twisted old white hawthorn tree, Unremembered, un-named, 'neath that little white cross With an almost effaced "R.I.P." By wild grass overgrown and half covered with moss At the bend of the road near Clonree |
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