"Away in the Manger" Please sing with your Bouvier....they'll may just sing along!!!

A Bouv on my pillow, no place for my head,
They've both taken over what once was MY bed.
The blankets are hairy, the sheets both have spit,
Someone's in charge and I'm sure I'm not it.

The Bouvies are sleeping, each one in their place,
I lie here and gaze upon each sleeping face.
I think that they're angels, but that's a mistake.
Their rowdy behavior begins when they wake.

They race thru the living room, shaking a toy,
Then skid to a stop my wild girl and my boy.
They look at me lovingly and give me a kiss,
These Bouvier moments I just can't dismiss.

Their eyes full of wonder, each face in a grin,
They've had their "mom" moment and are at it again.
Running and chasing, my house is a wreck,
Then Emma comes back and puts her paws round my neck.

They give their love freely, they want to be near,
Not just at Christmas, but each day of the year.
My life would be empty without them around,
Every day that I share with them, love just abounds.

All dogs are wonderful, that's just their way,
But Bouviers are just special, so their owner's say.
Intelligence shines from each dark brown eye,
Their honesty, loyalty you just can't deny.

Morgan Collings ~ Dec. 2007

Dear Santa Claws,

Some people don’t believe in you, but I do, because last year you brought me a tube of tennis balls, some yummy treats, a new dog sweater, and a plush, fleecy blue sheep that goes “Baaa-aaa-aaa” when I squeeze and chew on him. I stayed awake a long time next to the fireplace on Christmas Eve, waiting for you to come down, but I never did see you. Just my human Mom and Dad putting some packages under the tree. Thank you for those nice gifts last year! You are pretty special if you can sneak in past me!

This year I only want one thing for me for Christmas, and I promise, promise, promise that I’ve been good. My human Mom and Dad and sister and brother need your help a lot more than I do. See, Santa, my Dad lost something that was important to him this summer… something called a “job.” I looked for it all over the house and yard, but I don’t know what a job looks or smells like, so I couldn’t find it. He stayed upset for a very long time, and Mom got upset too, and they yelled at each other, and my brother and sister cried, and I don’t really understand.

Right after that, Dad started staying home all the time and worrying and drinking beer and yelling and sleeping too much. Mom went out and found a different “job” but I guess it isn’t a very special one, like the one Dad lost. She stays gone all day, and when she comes home, they fight and the kids run upstairs and shut their doors. Mom said she is worried they will lose their house. But how can you lose a house? You’re right there, inside it, and it’s much too big to bury, or carry off and leave somewhere! Humans are so weird, and I love them, but I don’t know why they act the way they do.

Then this week, Dad put my leash on me, and got my fleecy blue sheep, and put us in his car and brought us to this strange place. He gave me to a lady here, who brought me back to a concrete run with chain-link fence walls, and stainless steel bowls of food and water, and a Kuranda dog bed. The lady put me in here and closed the gate. And then my Dad went out to his car and got in and drove away without me. I could not believe it!

There are a bunch of other dogs of all kinds and sizes in this place, staying in runs just like mine. Some are just puppies, and some are really old, a few are sick or hurt, and some are kind of wild and a little scary, but a lot of them are just regular, nice dogs like me. Some of the dogs cry all the time, or bang on their gates, or pace in their runs, or just sit and stare, and the baby puppies huddle up together on their Kuranda beds and whimper or sleep. Even with lots of other dogs nearby, I’m lonely and afraid, and this place smells like pee, and like fear, even though the people clean it a lot. I am glad I have my fleecy blue sheep that you brought me last year, but I miss my family really bad. A few nice people have come in to visit me and the other dogs, and the kennel lady and her friends have fed us and taken us out to walk in a small yard with a big, tall fence. Sometimes, a kennel person comes and takes away one of the dogs on a leash. Sometimes, the dog who leaves goes out the front door after a while, and gets into a car with a new person! That’s what I want! But sometimes they walk back to a gray door at the far end of the dog runs. The dog and the person go in, but only the person comes out. Sometimes, when the person comes back out by herself, she has a red, puffy face and salty water coming out of her eyes…. Humans look and act so strange when they are unhappy. I am afraid I might have to go through that door, and make the lady unhappy. Santa, I don’t want to!

So Santa, I don’t think my Mom and Dad are coming back to get me, because Dad can’t find his “job.” I PROMISE I didn’t take it, or bury it, or chew it up! But that’s why he brought me to this place and left me, because maybe it’s my fault…. Could you please bring him a new one that he’ll really like? And some nice toys and treats to make my Mom, brother, and sister happy? If they are happy, maybe they will want me again. If they don’t come back for me, could you please bring me the one thing I really need for Christmas: a new human to love me and give me a home? No one is mean to me in this place, and I get food and treats, but I don’t like it here, because all of the dogs are sad and afraid. And because of the gray door.

Santa, if you are looking for a loving dog, I could even come home with you. But I heard it’s really cold up there where you live. I would definitely need my warm sweater from last Christmas! Could you bring all these other dogs here some new people, or something nice to make them feel better, too?

It’s Christmas Eve and I’m afraid I waited too late to talk to you. You may not have time to give anything to me and the other dogs here. So I’m sending this message to Jesus too. His birthday is tomorrow, you know! If you don’t have time to help me or think about me, I hope that maybe He can.

A lot of people who don’t believe in you also don’t believe in Jesus either, because they say they can’t see Him or hear Him, so he can’t be real. But I know He is real, and I have seen Him and heard Him! He is around all the time, not just at Christmas. At night while I am asleep, Jesus comes to talk to me and He tells me that He loves me, no matter what else happens to me with humans. He says that a time will come when I get to come live with Him forever, and when that time comes, I’ll have to leave my body behind, but I will never be afraid, or lonely, or bored, or unwanted, or in trouble for something I did, ever again. I would like to live with Jesus because He makes me feel very safe when He is with me. But I don’t know about leaving my body behind, and not being able to get back into it if I wake up.

Do you think it is cold and snowy where Jesus lives, just like where you live? I’m sorry I have so many questions, Santa, but there is not much to do here in this place, except think, worry, remember, and wish. There isn’t a chimney in this place, so I don’t know how you will get in. Maybe this time I will stay awake long enough to see you! If not, I will fall asleep and Jesus will come talk to me while I dream.

Santa, if I don’t get my family back, or a new human, or you don’t take me home with you… if I have to take a walk tomorrow through the gray door, or if I get to go with Jesus, and I have to leave my body behind… will I have to leave my fleecy blue sheep behind too? If I do, can you take it, and give it to another dog who is feeling lonely?

I hope you have a safe trip tonight, Santa. I left some food in the bottom of my bowl for you, and a biscuit under my Kuranda bed. I promise I will not bark if I get to see you, because it would spoil the surprise for all the other dogs.

I love you, Santa Claws. Thank you.
Merry Christmas

The little toy dog is covered with dust,

   But sturdy and stanch he stands;

 The little toy soldier is red with rust,

   And his musket molds in his hands.

Time was when the little toy dog was new,

   And the soldier was passing fair;

And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue

   Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,

   "And don't you make any noise!"

So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,

   He dreamt of the pretty toys;

And, as he was dreaming, an angel song

   Awakened our Little Boy Blue---

Oh! the years are many, the years are long,

   But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,

   Each in the same old place---

Awaiting the touch of a little hand,

   The smile of a little face;

And they wonder, as waiting the long years through

   In the dust of that little chair,

What has become of our Little Boy Blue,

   Since he kissed them and put them there.

The Battle of Benburb

O’er the hills of Benburb, rose the red beam of day


Gleaming bright from our foemen in battle array


But as brightly again, in the mid summer glow
It shone back from the troops of our brave Owen Roe.

Munroe had his thousands arrayed at his back


With their puritan mantles, steel morion and Jack


And with him fierce Blayney and Conway had come


To crush Owen Roe at the roll of the drum.

And who with O’Neill on that morn drew the band?


Brave hearts as e’er beat by the Blackwater strand


Sir Phelim, brave chief, with his bosom of fire


O’Donnell, McSweeney and gallant Maguire.

From Derry’s wild woodlands from Maine’s sounding tide


From Leitrim and Longford came chiefs to our side


From Breffni’s green hills, with his sabre in hand


Stood bold Myles the slasher, the pride of our land.

We kept all that noontide, the foemen at play


Though we thought of their forays and burned for the fray;


For our chief bade us wait, till the eve had begun


Then rush on the foe with our backs to the sun

Hurrah for the red hand!

And on to a man


Our columns poured down, like a storm on their van


Where a sermon was preaching to strengthen their zeal
‘

We’ll give them a sermon’ cried Owen Roe O’Neill.

There was panic before us and panic beside


As their horsemen fled back in a wild broken tide;


And we swept them along by the Blackwater shore
‘

Till we reddened its tide with the Puritan’s gore.

A Kern by the river held something on high
‘

Saint Columb, is it thus that our enemies fly!


Perchance ’tis my coolun, they clipped long ago


Mile Gloria, the rough wig of flying Munroe!’

And we took from the foes e’er that calm twilight fall


Their horses and baggage and banners and all;


Then we sat by our camp-fires and drank in the glow


Good health to our leader, the brave Owen Roe

 The Bloody Sarks

The young MacGregor o' Glen Strae, wi' eighty o' his men.
Upon the Argyle's sleekit word, pit Finlas Glen aflame.

The burnin', theivin', heilan' rant drove a' the beasts awa'.
And left ahint twa dirkit men tae perish in the snaw.

By Fallisdaill the letter come frae black Dumbarton toon,
To show the way they were tae gae, tae bring MacGregor doon.

The bloody Sarks o' butchered men tae Jamie's court maun gae,
The widow women for tae show and tell of the affray.

Collquoune o' Luss could thole nae mair wi' trampeled savaged pride,
Buchanan levies mounted up to tan MacGregor hide.

From Leven's vale, Dumbarton toon, and a' these lowland parts,
The burgesses and fairmers came wi' vengance in their hearts.

The Campbell and the Cameron, MacDonald o' Glencoe
Ranked alang wi' Gregorach and marched o'er the snow.

Far o'er the loch frae Arket Glen and doon the pass Parlan
By Loch Long who's shores are held by the theives o' Macfarlane.

Collquoune wi' his windy lowland mob lined o'er the Fruin Glen
Five hundred foot, arrayed aboot, three hundred mounted men.

Yon godless hoard o' Gregorach, and others o' their kind,
Will creep nae mair frae their heiland lair wi' murderin in their minds.

Aye whither be it for some stirks or just a ween o' blacks
They're ay'ways quick, their dirks to stick, in ain anithers backs.

For honest men and good Scots law, we'll tramp the vermin oot
Just steady, bide, god's on oor side, o' that there is nae doubt.

Then like a torrent frae the glen, MacGregor's scarlet charge,
The Sassenach could ne'er withstand the claymore and the targe.

And all around the hellish screams o' torn and dyin' men,
Their precious blood seeped in the mud and drained in Fruin Glen.

And every beast was led awa', a full twa thousand heid.
And the sairest price the victors paid was twa MacGregor's deid.

But bide ye yet, the victor's feast, the worst was still tae show,
For the king proclaimed the Gregorach henceforth tae be outlaw
Aye the bold MacGregor and his clan were a' declared outlaw.

TÍR NA nÓG

Fadó fadó Éirinn, roimh theacht don nua-aois,
Bhí conaí ann ar an bhFiann,
Fionn 's a mhac Oisín
Is iomaí eachtra a bhain leo siúd,
Is iomaí casadh croí,
Ach ní dhéanfar dearmad ar an lá
A bhuail Oisín le Niamh.

Niamh Chinn Ór, as Tír na nÓg,
B'í an bhean ab áille gné a chas ar Oisín Óg
Mheall í é le breathacht,
Mheall sí é le póg,
Mheall sí é gan aon agó
Go Tír na nÓg
Bhí Oisín, lá brea gréine,
Ag siúl le ciumhais na habhann
' Measc blathanna buí, is luachra,
Taibhsíodh dó an tsamhail,
Spéirbhean ghléigeal álainn
A d'fhag croí an laoich sin fann,
Thug cuireadh dó go ír na nÓg
Go síoraí cónaí ann.

Tír álainn, tír na hóige,
Tír dhiamhair aislingí
Trí chéad bliain chaith Oisín ann
I ngrá mór le Niamh
Ach fonn nár fhág é choíche,
Is nach bhféadfadh sé a chloí,
Dul thar n-ais go hÉirinn,
Go bhfeichfeadh sé í arís.

"Ná fág an áit seo," arsa Niamh
"Ná himigh uaim, a chroí"
"Ma fhágann tusa Tír na nÓg,
Nó fhillfidh tú arís."
Ach d'fhill Oisín ar Éirinn,
Mar bhí fiabhras ina chroí
Is fuair sé bás ós comhair an Naoimh
B'shin deireadh lena thriall.
Tír na nÓg, ó Tír na nÓg,
Tír uasal na draíochta a bhí ann fadó,
Féach thiar ansin í
Thiar ar fhíor na spéire
San áit go mba mhaith liom bheith,
Sin Tír na nÓg.

Colm Mac Séalaigh

The House of Orange

I took back my hand and I showed him the door
No dollar of mine would I part with this day
For fueling the engines of bloody cruel war
In my forefather's land far away.
Who fled the first Famine wearing all that they owned,
Were called 'Navigators', all ragged and torn,
And built the Grand Trunk here, and found a new home
Wherever their children were born.

Their sons have no politics. None call recall
Allegiance from long generations before.
O'this or O'that name just can't mean a thing
Or be cause enough for to war.
And meanwhile my babies are safe in their home,
Unlike their pale cousins who shiver and cry
While kneecappers nail their poor Dads to the floor
And teach them to hate and to die.

It's those cruel beggars who spurn the fair coin.
The peace for their kids they could take at their will.
Since the day old King Billy prevailed at the Boyne,
They've bombed and they've slain and they've killed.
Now they cry out for money and wail at the door
But Home Rule or Republic, 'tis all of it shame;
And a curse for us here who want nothing of war.
We're kindred in nothing but name.

All rights and all wrongs have long since blown away,
For causes are ashes where children lie slain.
Yet the damned U.D.I and the cruel I.R.A.
Will tomorrow go murdering again.
But no penny of mine will I add to the fray.
"Remember the Boyne!" they will cry out in vain,
For I've given my heart to the place I was born
And forgiven the whole House of Orange
King Billy and the whole House of Orange.

Stan Rogers.

The Irish Guards

WE'RE not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so young at our trade.
For we had the honour at Fontenoy
Of meeting the Guards' Brigade.
'Twas Lally, Dillon, Bulkeley, Clare,
And Lee that led us then,
And after a hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!
Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's bound to be fighting,
And when there's no fighting, it's Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

The fashion's all for khaki now,
But once through France we went
Full-dressed in scarlet Army cloth,
The English - left at Ghent.
They're fighting on our side today
But, before they changed their clothes,
The half of Europe knew our fame,
As all of Ireland knows!
Old Days! The wild geese are flying,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's memory undying.
And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

From Barry Wood to Gouzeaucourt,
From Boyne to Pilkem Ridge,
The ancient days come back no more
Than water under the bridge.
But the bridge it stands and the water runs
As red as yesterday,
And the Irish move to the sound of the guns
Like salmon to the sea.
Old Days! The wild geese are ranging .
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish their hearts are unchanging,
And when they are changed, it is Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

We're not so old in the Army List,
But we're not so new in the ring,
For we carried our packs with Marshal Saxe
When Louis was our King.
But Douglas Haig's our Marshal now
And we're King George's men,
And after one hundred and seventy years
We're fighting for France again!
Ah, France! And did we stand by you,
When life was made splendid with gifts and rewards?
Ah, France! And will we deny you
In the hour of your agony, Mother of Swords?
Old Days! The wild geese are flighting,
Head to the storm as they faced it before!
For where there are Irish there's loving and fighting,
And when we stop either, it's Ireland no more!
Ireland no more!

For My Friend Mister Emmet T.

For My Friend Mister Emmet T.

Bold Robert Emmet

   The struggle is over, the boys are defeated,
   Old Ireland's surrounded with sadness and gloom,
   We were defeated and shamefuIIy treated,
   And I, Robert Emmet, awaiting my doom.

   Hung, drawn and quartered, sure that was my sentence,
   But soon I will show them no coward am I.
   My crime is the love of the land I was born in,
   A hero I lived and a hero I'll die.

   (Chorus)
   Bold Robert Emmet, the darling of Ireland,
   Bold Robert Emmet will die with a smile,
   Farewell companions both loyal and daring,
   I'll lay down my life for the Emerald Isle.

   The barque lay at anchor awaiting to bring me
   Over the billows to the land of the free;
   But I must see my sweetheart for I know she will cheer me,
   And with her I will sail far over the sea.


   But I was arrested and cast into prison,
   Tried as a traitor, a rebel, a spy;
   But no man can call me a knave or a coward,
   A hero I lived and a hero I'll die.

   Hark! I the bell's tolling, I well know its meaning,
   My poor heart tells me it is my death knell;
   In come the clergy, the warder is leading,
   I have no friends here to bid me farewell.
   Goodbye, old Ireland, my parents and sweetheart,
   Companions in arms to forget you must try;
   I am proud of the honour, it was only my duty-
   A hero I lived and a hero I'll die.

Clare's Dragoons

When, on Ramillies' bloody field,
The baffled French were forced to yield,
The victor Saxon backward reeled
Before the charge of Clare's dragoons.
The flags we conquered in that fray,
Look lone in Ypres' choir, they say,
We'll win them company today,
Or bravely die like CIare's dragoons.

Viva la, for Ireland's wrong!
Viva la, for Ireland's right!
Viva la, in battle throng,
For a Spanish steed and sabre bright!

Another Clare is here to lead,
The worthy son of such a breed
The French expect some famous deed,
When Clare leads on his bold dragoons.
Our colonel comes from Brian's race,
His wounds are in his breast and face,
The bearna baoghil is still his place,
The foremost of his bold dragoon,

Viva la, the new brigade!
Viva la, the old one too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade
And the shamrock shine forever new!

Oh! comrades, think how Ireland pines,
Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines,
Her dearest hope, the ordered lines,
And bursting charge of Clare's dragoons.
Then fling your green flag to the sky,
Be "Limerick!" your battle-cry,,
And charge, till blood floats fetlock-high
Around the track of Clare's dragoons.

Viva la, the new brigade!
Viva la, the old one too!
Viva la, the rose shall fade
And the shamrock shine forever new!