Me Grandma was an Irish lass
Who traveled far from home.
At sweet sixteen she sailed away
Alone and on her own.

On foreign soil she landed,
A strange, unruly place.
Although most spoke her language,
They did so without grace.

She came to know a new land,
To marry and to love,
And by example, show us
Her faith in God above.

Her smile I still remember.
Oh, she was full of pluck.
She'd say: "It's not t' worry,
'Cause we have all the luck!"

Her heart was always open,
This grandmother of mine.
Through hurt, and pain, and suff'ring
Her Irish eyes would shine.

At the loss, although I wept
The day me Grandma died,
I know her soul's in Ireland
And God is by her side.

Irish never really leave,
Though some may travel far;
For Ireland's where their heart is
And Irish who they are.


Original poetry
by
David Alan Hoag
March 1, 1994

a poetic tribute to my Irish Grandmother,
Lillian Hoag

Me Grandma


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