Father Was A Celtic Man - Poem by Daniel McDonagh

Glasgow’s little Ireland lay in the Garngad
Where every boy followed the Celtic, along with his dad.
From those broken down streets, against a tenement wall,
A window pane is smashed, from a beautifully struck goal.

A pint of Guinness is drank at the Wee Glenn bar,
As father lights up a smoke and adjusts his Celtic scarf.
The Grangad Shamrock sing their grandfather’s hymns,
Of Ireland’s long struggle and the Black & Tans sins.

Then it’s onward to Parkhead, on a Corporation bus
Smoking on the top deck, taking a drink of Buckfast.
The journey is filled, with the talk of past games
And of how wee Bobby Lennox put the Rangers to shame.

Father’s in the “Jungle” ready for the match to start
As songs of the Glasgow Celtic pour out from his heart.
He stood in old Parkhead, where his father used to take him;
And now he rest’ in St.Kentigerns, Father was a Tim.

Poems by Daniel McDonagh

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