You’ll not find the name in geography books, <br />It isn’t marked on the map, <br />Nor mentioned in atlas or history, <br />Yet you’ve heard of the place mayhap. <br />The fairies lurk in the boreens there, <br />And the scent of the black-thorn haunts the air <br />Where Atlantic batters the coast of Clare <br />“West of Fanny O”Dea’s” <br /> <br />Now the old folk tell, in their cheerful chat <br />By the kitchen fire’s bright glow, <br />Of hurling matches, or dance or fair, <br />Of happenings of long ago. <br />How the heftiest fighters came from there, <br />Women and men who could do and dare, <br />From the very heart of the heart of Clare, <br />West of Fanny O’Dea’s. <br /> <br />From “West o’ Fanny’s” the folk went forth, <br />To the uttermost parts of the earth; <br />And the forest fell ‘neath their sturdy stroke, <br />The cabin rang with mirth. <br />They builded homes, and the faith was there <br />Living circles of love and prayer, <br />Far from the rocky coast of Clare, <br />West of Fanny O’Dea’s. <br /> <br />As the old folk chat at the kitchen fire <br />Of doings of long ago, <br />The young ones smile, with a tender scorn, <br />At a well-worn phrase they know: <br />“Now many strange countries and climes there be, <br />And many queer names o’er land and sea, <br />But <br />where <br />in the name of geography <br />Is ’West of Fanny O’Dea’s?”<br /><br />Alice Guerin Crist<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/west-of-fanny-o-dea-s/
