Somewhere the Sun is Shining

By Frank Maguire

No battleground surpassed it, not rampart, hill or field,
As the soiled and savage rivals, though exhausted, would not yield.
One-hundred-fifty yards they raged, one-hundred-fifty more,
Yet not a single ball was caged, yet not a single score.

Though Camans buzzed and whirred and whizzed and horsehide sphere did fly,
And players swore, and players fell, and partisans did cry,
Not one among the thirty could pierce each fierce redoubt,
And it seemed to all that mortal man could never end the bout.

Then, suddenly, it seemed, Ol' Nick abetted Clabarside,
O'Kelley's head stopped hurley stroke (for sure we thought he'd died)
Coach Duffy bellowed to the bench to "Send the new man in,"
All fresh and grim, determined, trim, with but one thought, "to win!"

The rookie giant, though untried, did look the hero's part;
He'd steely sinew, stealth and speed, now if he had the heart.
Perhaps one-hundred-fifty yards he'd hurl it to the net;
Perhaps this burly, mortal man could beat the Devil yet.

Ten thousand fans were silent as the giant stripped the ball,
And drew his mighty arms back, and hurled it with his all;
It rocketed the lengthy field just like a shooting star,
And tore into the helpless net, a foot below the bar.

Somewhere the rain is falling, somewhere another's failed;
Somewhere a fallen hero's booed who yesterday was hailed;
But in a spot in Ireland, there's one who did reclaim
The glory of his yesterdays, yes, Casey is his name.

© Frank Maguire