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The Famine

In the Spring of '45
I planted my potato crop,
But when I dug them up in Winter
They were black and brown from rot.

There were seven in my family,
Four children under five,
I had to find some food for them,
To keep them all alive.

It wasn't too bad to start with,
But by Autumn '47,
Two members of my family
Had died and gone to Heaven.

That Winter it was long and cold
And every thing was bare,
Then when my lovely wife passed on
I thought it so unfair.

My family were now so thin,
Their faces were so hollow,
They decided to emigrate,
But foolishly I didn't follow.

I saw a soldier selling corn,
No one was around,
I took this opportunity
To knock him to the ground.

I robbed him of his food and money
And quickly ran away,
But sadly I was caught and killed
And left there to decay.

- Róisín