The Question
¶ 1
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By devious ways where the exile strays,
In many a land afar.
Their fancy flies to the Paradise,
No matter where they are.
The Green and White, like a beacon light,
Upon their path has shone –
The question slips from Celtic lips,
“How did the Bhoys get on?”
¶ 2
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Tho’ seas divide we think with pride
Of the team we left behind:
We are faithful still, through good and ill
We bear the Celts in mind.
So memory clings in their wanderings
To lighten an exile’s load –
The tramp of feet down Janefield Street
Or a vision of London Road.
¶ 3
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Far across the surf we can see the turf
That came from the shamrock shore,
The teams tripping out, the welcoming shout
We heard in days of yore.
We read with zest of Britain’s best
And the mighty deeds they’ve done:
One thought in view when the mail comes through –
Have the dear old Celtic won?
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