Sir, - A tender shoot sprouted, Through a crack in a Belfast street, And some believed, And shouted: "It is a rose, The flower of peace", And gathered round to tend it.
But others jeered, At peace in a Belfast street, And sneered: "Now don't be silly This is Belfast, And no flower will ever mend it,"
Eventually it died, For it was no rose - just another Belfast lily. - Yours, etc,
Wexford.