DROMAHAIRE TURKEY MARKET OF YESTERYEAR Oh, Christmas must be drawing near, Narrow winding busy roads, Lead into Dromahaire. Distant rolling rattling wheels Of turkey carts. I hear, 'Tis the big turkey market, I declare. Strike a tough bargain folk, For our hard earned pay, Today our selling price shall be Two and sixpence a pound for hens, And two shillings for cocks, not a penny less, Cash tightly grasped in our fists, Can buy our chosen Christmas gifts. Sure its time to join in celebration, Enter Tom O'Brien's friendly old pub, Strong unshaven menfolk Leisurely sit on polished high stools, Drink black porter by the pint, Comely womenfolk tiptoe into darkened snug, Fresh turf fire kindles slowly, A glimmer of heat not so cosy, Sip glasses of port wine, their own little treat. Its getting late now, I see the falling dusk Descend on grey castle walls, Patient donkeys tied on 'back-line' Now are restless and cold. Soon they will remind us As their rebellious roars unfold. Hastily I enter gaily lit Gillmor's shop, To buy some currants and raisins For my Christmas cake to bake, Bulls-eye sweets for the children at home, I take. Homeward I stroll now, Behind my ass-cart weary and cold, Grey winters frost stiffens canvas Draped over my empty cart. Dim street light on 'castle hill,' Guides me slowly out of town, Happy I am, as I reach my little home, My once noisy turkey shed, Now stands vacant and still. -- Michael Hamilton, 2005 issue "Leitrim Guardian" yearly magazine.