Battle of brothers, battle of blood
More bitter than of the common enemy before
Which was now an ally, battle which would
Divide out people event more
Not alone on those hot summer days
But for rainy nights of decades to come…
Each to debate and remember and condemn
The other, be they from estate of slum.
But love conquers all, Cupid proclaims
As the bullets flew on a Dublin street
John Kennedy, and his blushing bride
Mary Douglas, at the alter did meet…
Till death to each other they declared
Little did they know it would be so soon:
Her tears would be seen not her bridal smiles
By the watching rising moon.
Kennedy fell dead – having returned to the fighting
She – a new Grace – was a widow now
As if Cupid himself was shot on an Irish street
The Gods of fate they wonder how.
An unknown love story of a tragic war
Among thousands of others on each side forgotten
Was it worth it, what they settled for?
A state divided, sectarian and rotten?