THE ORATOR "Remember Pearse," he said; "if we Lose Irish we lose Ireland," They looked and listened stupidly Like country folk on holiday. If Yeats were still alive maybe He could breathe vigour into clay, Conjure an aristocracy, And add grandeur to decay. But he too was responsible For this dull ash of men, for he Was often as contemptible In bartering all for poetry. Yes, I have heard some people tell Of petty spite and tyranny, For psychic sight and psychic smell Both failed to teach him charity. If Yeats were still alive maybe Ireland would cut a dash again, But men can starve on poetry And bullets break the poet's pen. We need another death. Who knows -- Before the resurrection -- Instead of arrogance and pose We'll need a Sheehy Skeffington. -- Roy McFadden (born 1921)