by Dan Keane
He came across from Denny Street,A boy about fourteen.
I felt a beauty in his voice
That filled the passing scene.
He kept his course with solemn step
He neither rushed nor ran,
But advertised the ware he sold:
“The Kerryman, The Kerryman.”
I heard and watched with eager eyes
As down the Mall he went,
His eyes ne’er wandered left nor right
From his avowed intent.
He sold and thanked, he thanked and sold
But still maintained the song
That drew the customers to him:
“The Kerryman, The Kerryman”.
The voice was round and strong yet sweet
And rich in every tone;
There in that crowded busy street
He just shone out alone.
A few wee imitators
He did not even scan,
But kept his course with dignity:
“The Kerryman, The Kerryman”.
I heard him quicken up his pace
As customers came nigh
“Kerryman, Sir! Kerryman, Sir!”
Was his appealing cry.
But that was many years ago
I wonder where he is gone
Who thrilled my heart to hear him shout
“The Kerryman, The Kerryman”.
