The under twelve camogie girls, Little and lithe and lovely, Under warrior helmets, visors and all, Screamed at the winter sky, In the field where leather meets ash. Pull and crack, What craic! Little Josie, hurley high, screams to heaven, At Thurles Sarsfields’ Bill, Who had showed them how to bend and strike, And first time pull for goal. Like Bill himself in glorious days, On summer sun-soaked hurling fields, Times distant and delightful to recall, “Bill, Bill,” she shouts, time and time once more, “Oh,Bill I want to play with her”. A plea to waiting mums familiar, When all those mums were girls, When Bill and I were boys.
NICE ONE