In The Ford of the heroes
there he lies,
brave Tom Crean
noble son of Annascaul,
where the gulf streams
cool, calm breeze,
lulls him into gentle
sleep,
but hark and listen
and you will hear,
the icy cold winds of Antarctica
sing a eulogy through
the trees of Ballinacourty
to their courageous warrior,
home to rest at last.
By Brigid O Connor