Def: Buthaláins / Buachainean Buí – ragworth
—— Ulster and Connacht Irish
I as a youth I played with clay
If one could really call it play
As I month after month the garden wed
And saw the growing weeds with dread
And I did not in my youth realize
What was my hell, was another’s paradise
When concrete towers and a concrete street
Stops one getting hands dirty in the earth beneath
No more buthaláins now do I have to pull
I live in a flat to the seams full
With all the things I have in life accumulated
In a life of spending excess understated
Yet plan again,some land to own
To pull those darned weeds that there have grown
Out of necessity, my destiny it does seem
To wallow in my hell that is another’s dream…
