The Wandering Gael

Fodla and Mil, Alba and Erin
Mother and Father and Wombs of our brood.
The Boru and Maebd, the Bruce and dear Amergin
Siblings before us who founded our mood
Stepfather England in violent cruel fosterage
Robbed us of birthright in croft plain and vale
And thus we were thrust upon Gaea's cold mercy
The Celt without Country, the Wandering Gael

No village around us, no tribe to uphold us
No poet nor druid nor chieftain held sway
'Twas only the priest and the presbyter preacher
To give out the sacrament and show us the way
In dark cities teeming with Europe's cheap discards
In coal mines and rail lines through wild frontiers
In hill country farming with dirt scratching labor
We eked out survival or succumbed to our fears

We spread and we prospered despite of the hatred
Shoveled upon us by ignorant folk
We laughed and we drank, we labored and quarreled
Some even grew rich, to finish the joke
We made ourselves home, where the land made us welcome
In countries down under and the lands of the West
In Boston, Chicago, and South Carolina
In Sydney, Seattle, and where I love best

That shining land looking out o'er the Pacific
The mountains the valleys the deserts the lakes
With celluloid dreams and silicone thinking
With fires and floods and dreaded earthquakes
My home, California, the true land of promise
With sunshine forever and thick Tule fog
With shiny snow peaks and hot sandy beaches
I think me this Gael has found Tir na nOg

I hear the land speaking as oft as I listen
I hear the nine waves in our father's travail
Under these mountains a treasure trove glistens
Of wisdom and beauty in this home for the Gael
I am the Salmon in long rivers running
I am the Cougar perched high on a stone
I am the Sierra and the Desert Sun shining
I am the Redwood growing tall in my home