Felix Dennis

 As I was passing Dublin  Gate,
I met a man who dined on hate,
   Who supped upon a sea of song
Made bitter by an ancient wrong.

   As I passed through a Belfast mist,
I met a man who shook his fist,
   Who preyed upon the men of hate
Who crept at night through Dublin Gate.

   As I was passing Cromwell Street,
I met a man blown off his feet,
   Who scrawled in blood upon a stone:
No prisoners! God will know His own!

   As I was passing Parliament,
I met a man whose orders sent
   Young squaddies out upon the street
To shoot at men they’d never meet.

  As I was passing New York State,
I met a man who heaped a plate
   With others’ pain; who paid a fee
To be a part of history.

   As I passed by a widow’s door
I heard a cry: Dear Christ, no more!
   A  pox upon your Dublin Gate,
You Belfast mist... your men of hate.