I don’t know how to write about irony

It’s not simply sarcasm,you know.

It’s not meant to cut

But simply to put

A comment with a humorous glow.

 

When referring to political tyranny

Wit may serve better than steel.

Contempt is not good

For if not understood

The bleeding wounds may never heal.

 

But talking of Hitler and Stalin

And others  who encouraged great sin

Irony ‘s out

Clear speech leaves no doubt,

The inmates have possessed the Great Bin

 

 

 

• Oh,John Joe was a farmer’s son

  They lived up near the hills.
  When he went to tend his sheep
  He  gazed down on cotton mills.

  The rivers ran with water pure
  And so provided power
  Yet over these dark ruined towns
  The heathered hills did tower.

  Mary was a local girl
  She walked out on the moors
  She wore a dress of silky cloth
  Printed with tiny flowers.

  John Joe saw Mary dear
  When he was dipping sheep
  She peered over a dry stone wall
  And saw the new lambs leap.

  Her hair was long.Her hair was gold
  Her eyes singularly blue.
  In John Joe’s eyes she was so fair,
  What was a man to do?

  He watched her walking all alone
  Was she sad or sick?
  He showed her how his dog behaved
  He showed her shepherds’ tricks.

  Then one day,he held her hand
  As they walked to the Pike.
  They stood up there and gazed all round
  So John thought he would strike.

  He bent down on his right knee
  And spoke to Mary then.
  I’ve loved you ,Mary, since we met
  I hoped we’d meet again

  Mary smiled with her blue eyes;
  Her lips were pink and bright.
  I love you too and love the hills
  And. love the summer light.

  The next year they were married
  Mary wore white lace.
  She looked so happy then
  To know she’d her own place.

  The church bells rang,the people sang
  John and Mary wed!
  And naturally, when evening came,
  At last they went to bed.

  When Mary lay in John Joe’s arms
  She knew this was her home.
  And so for many. many years
  On those loved  hills they roamed.

  They cared for sheep and hens and goats
  They cared for children three.
  They never had a falling out
  But talked beneath a tree.

  From youth to age the years went by
  But John still loved his bride.
  And Mary too was happy
  With John Joe by her side.

  Their faces,lined, were full of cheer
  Their hair as white as snow
  And everywhere that JJ went
  Mary too did go.

  Until the day came for his death,
  He lay down in the grass.
  Mary ran and held him close
  And thus dear John did pass.

  The muffled bells rang from the tower
  John Joe was carried in.
  The parson prayed and hymns were sung.
  The sheep dog made a din.

  In the dark earth John was laid
  While Mary wept and cried.
  What will I do ,my  own sweet John ,
  without you by my side?

  So Mary grieved and wept and sighed
  And thus she spent two   years…
  The loss was great and bent her back
  with the weight of care.

  For when we open up our hearts
  We feel both joy and woe.
  This is the pattern of our love,
  Which like  a river flows.

   

  .