What is it, then, the Irishishness
Fate laid on me in this largesse?
A place I lost. I scarcely knew,
The childhood land I never outgrew,
My father’s life, my mother’s tales
Of hungers, wars, workhouses, jails,
The memories not quite my own
To which my memories are sown.
Entangled, thus, in Erin’s net,
I am what I refuse to forget.