‘Time cures all ills’. Perhaps it may
Yet Time’s a slow physician.
Supporting which I’d have you note
The threatening condition
In Ireland all these years from Cromwell’s day.
World around, the same position,
Late colonial ambition
Left fest’ring wounds that will not go away.
Who’s to blame? That’s not my brief.
And it’s really my belief
That time can make the rights and wrong quite blurred.
The past, to be sure,
Has a lot to answer for
But the way we treasure grievance is absurd.
Nearer home, who can forget,
So-and-so was mother’s pet
Had the new clothes, went to parties, stayed up late,
And when there was work to do
Made a bee-line for the loo
And left it all on someone else’s plate.
They alone, to our vexation,
Have had higher education
While all we have’s resentment in full spate.