The home life © Tony Fallon 011418.

The home life © Tony Fallon 011418.

I’m three thousand miles from Erin’s isle because of immigration

But the home I left behind needs no photo or fancy illustration

Far out in the country many miles from the nearest town

In Barnacullen Rahara where my parents settled down

Rahara Parish was two Irish words which in English is high place

We were the last house in the Parish with loads of open space

Our neighbors were spaced far apart in our fair sized village

When I was growing up there was cattle sheep and tillage

It was in a little valley right in front of a turlough lake

There was fresh fish in the summer in the winter duck and drake

My Father was a builder who built houses walls and tanks

And often fixed up old family houses for returning yanks

Many of my days of youth were spent on building sites

And the two of us would be cycling home with no bicycle lights

That always bothered me that batteries cost so many shillings

Luckily there were not many cars or there would be many more killings

In our neighbors field there was a big unfinished water tank

I went into it once for a ball if there was water I’d have sank

But I couldn’t get out of the empty tank for my age I wasn’t tall

And no matter how I tried I couldn’t grab the top of the wall

Then I remembered the story of the half jar of water and the bird

And started gathering small stones in case I’d never be heard

I’m sure you realize by now that I finally got out and went home

If I didn’t and nobody found me you wouldn’t be reading this poem.