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On Tumbledown, no doubting of our love,

No bishopric’s accusing finger points,

Proclaiming: ‘Gays can’t die for God above,

Or marry Harry, Jessica or George’!

No holy men in dresses and big hats,

Will stem this bloody flow, or hold my hand,

Or sing my soul aloft; no music wafts

Along the breeze from England’s pleasant land.

Are you still there, Jim? God, it’s bloody cold,

Hold tight until I go, I’m fading fast,

I never really fancied growing old,

Will they permit a gay a requiem mass?

     Will they chose love, or bigotry and hate?

     I know which of those led me to this fate.


◄ Luimneach 23/12/11


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M.C. Newberry

Sun 10th Jun 2012 15:02

A direct reminder that death is the final
arbiter of our human foibles and the idiocy of
"compartmentalising" love for our fellows.
"Did God give us love to be gaoled by gender?
When we leave this life, it's "return to sender".

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