I just listened to an old Irish folk tune that had the refrain of “the cares of tomorrow must wait ’til this day is done.”
It had some beautiful verses and some mournful tones, but it always ended with, “the cares of tomorrow must wait ’til this day is done.”
Several years ago I spent some time in Ireland since that culture was part of my upbringing. My mother played the piano, and when family and guest would gather, she played the old Celtic tunes, and everybody sang.
After I returned from the Emerald Isle, my muse required several poems. Here’s one.
Ireland of My Youth
© 2006 Rolland G. Smith
I came to find the Ireland of my youth
When songs of troubled times and ballads sad
Were sung by family friends who knew the truth
In dispassion’s glance and famine’s hard bad.
Some tunes were lively songs of memories old
And others brought a tear from thoughts within.
But each was sung with strength of heart and soul
As gathered guests recalled their origin.
Now here I am today on Patrick’s Isle
To see anew the Irish spirit bold
And still, the songs are sung in Celtic style
With tenor’s pipes in singing rhythmic brogue.
The Ireland of my youth, I knew from song
But here, now aged, I know where I belong.