Dear Sur, A know your space is skimpt,
But kindly try an’ gie
A wee bit tae yer sober freen,
An’ blissin’s rest on ye.

The tapmaist subject in oor minds
At hame an’ those afar,
Is juist whut each o’ us can dae
Tae help tae wun the war.

Which still drags on week after week,
An’ though we gie oor tin,
God only gies the victory
Tae those wha pert wae sin.

Which came hame wae much force tae me,
An’ started me tae think
Bae resolutions lately past
In favour o’ strong drink.

Up in the Dublin Mansion Hoose
Aboot twa weeks ago,
A lot o big yins gether’d there,
Wha did their best till show

That if the trade wuz choked tae daith
An’ buried oot o’ sicht
Some eichty thoosan in this isle
Wud fin’ it rather ticht.

As ower sixteen thoosan shaps
Wud hae tae change their sign,
Hence shatter’d hames, an’ ruined lives
Alang “restrictions” line.

That if this “spoiler” wud succeed,
They said in language plain,
Then poverty an’ mis’ry dire
Wud follow in its train.

Noo Sur, yer readers ir wise folk,
Tae whom A hear appeal.
An’ ask them if the “traffick’s” no
An agent o’ the De’il.

As it fills work hooses wae folk,
An’ mak’s asylums thrang,
An’ prisons ir the hame o’ those
Wha tarry at it lang.

Drink robs its victims o’ their health,
That greatest blessin’ far,
An’ tak’s mair pecious lives on earth
Than famine, plague an’ war.

A know that’s sad, but sadder still
As endless will roll,
That awful state which does await
The drunkard’s poor lost soul.

Let us clear oot the cursed thing
Frae oor beloved isle,
An’ dae “oor bit” tae wun the war,
Then God shall on us smile.

A.L.F. 10th March 1917

Total Page Visits: 918 - Today Page Visits: 1