The Irish Papists – The Irish Papists swimming out to food, dropping into water to wade out …

The Irish Papists swimming out to food, dropping into water to wade out to a way out, to realise full bellies in other parts.
A hunger for those caught in purity, not pulling up their deep anchors from a deeper religious bed.
What was tried before by Tudor vice in Penal Laws, a way then seen to sort out that ‘bad religion’, and there we were again in that long war, another means at use on a foreigner’s permanent headache.
Elizabeth One, that Spencer ‘Farie Queen’, the happy Queen with a sign-off for the good way, easing her loving Reformer’s mental burdens, loving aloud, they agreed that Jesus agreed, so it was true, so it was right, the Mass and beads were whorish plots, so a supreme replacement concluded.
Faerie Queen died in her hag’s cloth, the clocks moved and others sat on the stallions, saw between their horses ears those not kinsmen in faith or deed, but a loss to be valued.
The green grass walked over again, and over today, this gathered plant became flat from heavy traffic, as on and on walked the vagrant, and black dust now the ones left at the side to be with their God as a rag wet choir breathed out a ‘Hail Mary Full of Grace’.
Food there rotting for everyone, other food there uneaten, moved around to fit a new economic, and so the Irish Papists worn down and pushed out by snarling men with bastard godly edict and money purses hanging heavy from their leather.
Blank white faces and ash-filled ground as the near end sang out to their hearts, their new ending came forward, and bodies alive greeted this favour from new foreigners, a cast away brethren on boats to heaven.

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