The Dirge of McDoole and Mary

White masts over the bay,
Marines in scarlet coats,
Torches setting fire to roofs of hay,
The day they slit his throat.

Busting in on McDoole’s wooden door
Bayonets gleaming in the fire
They threw poor Mary to the floor,
No more than an object of desire.

McDoole burst in with pistol in hand.
Anger flashing in his eyes,
With a single shot he sent one of the command
To his home in the sky.

That day was the last Mary was a wife,
They forced Mcdoole against a stone wall
And took his life with a sharpened knife.
His blood fell on Mary’s shawl.

Mary was left alone to her grief ,
Holding his body in her arms
Her face showing pain and disbelief
Her cries echoing across the farms.

Well Mary filled her apron with stone
And with her final plea,
She jumped of cliffs white as bone
And Sank under the sea.

Her body washed to shore,
It was buried next to McDoole
Both victims of another war
For British rule.

Such a Sad story,,,

Welcome to our home away from home

very good writing
welcome

Very Nice.

Welcome to the poetry forum. Great history story, by the way