To Those Resting in Carrowmore

You watched over your Queen and gave
your best to let her rule the wave
and all it is enclosing;
how does it feel, oh ancient brave,
when cows are gazing on your grave?

You have been fighting for Queen Maeve
when men and women didn’t shave
nor trimmed their hair for fashion;
how does it feel, oh ancient brave,
when cows are grazing on your grave?

You have been resting in your grave
for many thousand years and save
your strength for her arrival;
how does it feel, oh ancient brave,
when cows are lazing on your grave?