I crossed a bridge and thought to shake the dust
From off my feet, but it was not to be;
For though I fled across the Irish sea,
Nursing resentment and profound disgust
That individuals had betrayed their trust
And held the public stage in ignominy,
Events o’ertook the ancient enemy,
And time has mellowed memory, as it must.
Homeward I crawl, a wretched prodigal,
To bide awhile, and then again depart –
To leave once more, once more to feel bereft –
Your picture album in my mental holdall,
The hills of Antrim etched upon my heart,
For truth to tell, I never really left.