Ode To The Coughlans

In eighteen hundred and eighty-five
Great Grandfather sailed from Dublin’s shores
With a girl at his side, to soon be his bride
It was ne’er to see Ireland, no more

Craggy rocks, crashing waves of white breakers
Bid them welcome to the shores off Scotia’s coast
A slow, horse-drawn wagon did roll them along
To find Ottawa and the dreams it did boast

A pretty colleen by name of Brigitte
Stood post by James Coughlan, soon to marry
Steadfast and staunch, loyal to her beliefs
Saying I do, with dreams and wishes, she did tarry

Brigitte was clad in her finest attire
Peacock feathers adorned her chapeau
Corsets were part of her regular regime
Frills and lace and magnificent bows

James was a proud man, six foot in stature
Top hat, a vest, handlebar moustache
High polished shoes, of fine quality from France
Collared stiff shirt and white coloured spats

Settled in Ottawa, a son came to bless
Their cozy domicile in the east
William, they christened with no middle name
To save argument and hold family peace

James worked his hands hard in labour
A mule-skinner on the Eerie Canal
An educated man with hardly a choice
Praying offspring might benefit and do well

William did grow to be a fine young man
Educated by the sweat of his father’s brow
He became a draftsman, designer of fine crafts
On the advise of his father’s know how

A successful young man, did cross over a bridge
On his way to Hull, Quebec one spring day
He’d meet a young lady, Mary Hull, was her name
There his heart, she would soon steal away

They married after the turn of the century
And there came William Hilliard - - dear dad of mine
It was nineteen o’ nine, when his star chose to shine
Then extinguished fifty-seven years from this time

I appreciate your traverse and tribulations
To this Canada, I know as my home
Ancestors rest assured, that your memory’s secured
And passed on to next kin o’ my own

I’m the heir to the family’s history
Da chose me to wield his torch high
I reminisce yarns - - bout sweet days bygone
When the Coughlans, bid farewell to Erin not nigh!

Saint Patrick's Day Poem 3