JOHN. B.
By Mattie Lennon.
Chorus
Before you went you told us not to cry.
On that sad night.
“Let the show go on” you said and then “goodbye”.
We shouldn’t question why you had to die
Before you went you told us not to cry
As Writer’s Week had opened,
For it’s thirty-second year,
Where poet and peasant mingle
To absorb Listowel’s good cheer.
A cloud crossed hill and valley
From Carnsore to Malin Head,
As news went ’round our island
“The great John. B. is dead”
Chorus.
He who walked with King and beggar
Will lift his pen no more,
To bring out the hidden Ireland
Like no one did before.
He banished inhibitions
To put insight in their stead.
The world stage is brighter
But The “Kingdom’s King” is dead.
The dialogue of two Bococs
Is known in every town.
Now the Ivy Bridge links Broadway
To the hills of Renagown.
While men of twenty emigrate
And Sharon’s Grave is read,
Or a Chastitute ‘s forlorn
His memory won’t be dead.
Chorus.
They stepped out from the pages
Of The Man From Clare and Sive
To walk behind his coffin
Each character alive.
His Soul, with One-Way Ticket
To The Highest House has sped,
And this world has lost a genius;
The great John. B. is dead.
Chorus.
Copyright Mattie Lennon 2002
(Put to music by John Hoban.)