• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    Tom Tig

    Wee Tom Tig was a favourite
    With all his mates at school
    Though he’d laugh when tripped, and grin when nipped
    Tom was not just a fool.

    Tom was not bright; Tom would not fight
    And much he was knocked about.
    If his cap or pen got lost he’d grin
    And say he’d do without.

    Though often switched he never mitched
    And though the cruel cane
    Would cloud awhile his sunny smile
    ‘Twould soon break out again.

    At last Tom Tig grew far too big
    To sit in the wee school desks
    So he bade good-by with a painless sigh
    To teachers and school tasks.

    The old school clock ticked slower then
    And the old school grimmer grew
    And the sun in the sky grew dimmer when
    Tom Tig bade school adieu.

    For him unfurled then spread the world
    And the world just then looked grand
    But Tom loved home and would not roam
    Far from his own townland.

    He laughed at us and we laughed at him
    And we all laughed together
    Great fun was he but sad were we
    When he reached the end of his tether.

    They came to his wake from near and far
    And their tears would turn a mill
    But all would swear who saw him there
    That Tom was smiling still.

    MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘The Bard of Foremass,
    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.