All those who scramble after death
And all its accompanying sensations
Gather around you now.  You looked
In so many different directions for the truth
And I don't know if you ever found it.
But you tried. God, you tried.

All those south Dublin Gaels dismissed you,
As they did the Aran sweaters they used to wear
During the Celtic Tiger with their Estonian nannies
And their Latvian gardeners. The EU
was grand, as far as it went.

Your Irishness was never exclusive, never
The small-minded De Valera nationalism.
You were the Muslim Irish, the Pagan Irish,
The contemplative Irish, the West-Brit Irish.
You challenged every shibboleth, every
Cowardice. Nothing compares to you. .