“We Are the Kennedys” (Tribute to Irish History and the Diaspora)
by Mark Kennedy 2025
We started out in Clare’s green hills,
Where Brian Boru once reigned,
A High King crowned in Killaloe,
Our legacy unchained.
From Shannon’s flowing waters
To Lough Derg’s quiet shores,
The blood of Kings still stirs in us—
A heritage that soars.
The O’Kennedys, rebellious,
So named by Cromwell’s hand,
Were thorns in every empire’s side
That sought to take our land.
In every rising, every cause,
Our name was on the line—
From pike to pen, we stood our ground
With courage in our spine.
We come from hills of Tipperary,
From the Shannon wide and strong,
From Wexford fields and Kerry’s cliffs,
Where stories turn to song.
We bear the name of chieftains,
Of poets, priests, and seers—
And Brian Boru still rides with us
Through the shadow of the years.
We tilled the land in silence
Where the mist meets Keeper Hill,
In Templederry’s winding lanes
Castle Otway standing still.
From Portnard to Foilduff,
Curreeny to Tooreenbrien,
In Garravane we fought and farmed
Our spirits never dyin’.
In Ormond’s ancient shadow,
We stood by Nenagh’s keep,
In Lorrha’s abbey ruins
Where monks still seem to sleep.
From Toomevara’s historic village
To where Shannon waters glide,
The Kennedys of Lower Ormond
Held their ground with pride.
We are the flame that crossed the sea,
When hunger drove us far—
To Boston’s ports, New York’s rough streets,
Beneath a different star.
But Ireland lived within us
In every fight and vow—
We raised our voices in new lands
Yet kept the old words somehow.
One rose to lead a nation—
With Wexford in his soul,
Young Jack with dreams and daring
Who made the broken whole.
And Bobby marched with justice,
And Teddy stood his ground—
The harp still played behind them
As they turned the world around.
From Gaelic fields to Congress halls,
The name has echoed wide—
In science, sport, and service
Wherever Kennedys reside.
Yet every stream and stone back home
Still whispers of our kin—
For every Kennedy abroad
Still carries Ireland in.
So gather now, ye daughters, sons,
Of castle, farm, and quay—
From Clonmel, Doon, and Dingle
To shores across the sea.
We toast the past that shaped us,
The future yet to be—
For we are all one story:
We are the Kennedys.
