Darragh O’Shea takes a walk hence
Into the cold clear night
Winter has come with a vengeance
Say some, ”Sure, we’ll put up a fight.”
To a pub he heads this night so cold
For a cheer and beer
And stories to be told
With friends he loves so dear
His journal he has to write things up
So much has happened, unclear
He’ll write down some good things, he must
As he shares a beer
The laughter’s tears fall from his face
As he listens to the band
The singer weaves his voice in chase
With the musicians quick-fire hands
His day gone from bad to fantastic
Such a mixed bag
His journal always elastic
A story it never lacks
So as his night draws to an end
He finishes off with a whiskey
He says goodnight to friends
And a girl, for not is he frisky
So home he heads for his supper
And to write-up his day
It could’ve been worse, could’ve been scuppered
But ended up in merriment and play
So he writes his words
Having his say
Wondering if they’ll be heard
This the Journal of Darragh O’Shea
Caliburnus Rises 