 |
|
Beal Feirste Thiar 2001
|
|
Tchimse na bothoga ghlasa ghranna
mar bhruscar ag bun na speire
go luath ar maidin earraigh,
Ceol na n-ean
a mhuchu ag dioscan na n-innill,
Ca fhad eile a mhairfidh an foreigean seo?
Leoraithe a lionadh gan staonadh
acu,
Pocai a lionadh gan naire orthu,
Galar ar chraiceann an tsleibhe.
Gheibhimse boladh an deannaigh
go searbh san aer,
Tchimse salachar na leoraithe lanlionta
ar fhal `is bothar.
Ach cad e a athlionfaidh
an poll?
an bpleascfaidh bolcan marbh?
An eiroidh Fionn mac Cumhaill ona shuan
siorai chun oilean a chaitheamh
leis an chnoc?
Leoraithe a lionadh gan staonadh acu,
Pocai a lionadh gan naire orthu,
Galar ar chraiceann
an tsleibhe..
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I see the ugly green huts littering the skyline,
early on a spring morning,
The song of the birds is drowned out
by
the hum of machinery,
How long must this obscenity continue?
A relentless filling up of lorries
matched
only by the filling up of pockets,
A blight on the face of our hillside.
I smell the bitterness of the dust,
in the once pure mountain air,
I see the filth from the overfilled lorries,
on hedge and roadside,
But who
will refill the hole in our little mountain?
Will a dormant volcano ooze forth?
Will Fionn McCool rise from his eternal
slumber
to throw an island at the hill?
They fill their lorries as they line their pockets,
On the pock marked
face of Hannahstown.
|
|
|
