Dublin, 1916

The Easter Rising

If hell were a city,
we’d feel no such pity
for the man who ran it, would we?

And if I were a Father
who lopped heads in water,
would the Judge ever let me be?

And if I were a Mother
alone, swollen, smothered,
would the Lamb not share my shame?

But all is forgiven
when He who is Risen
condemns his frail children to flame.