Walfrid’s Dream

There’s a quiet corner of Scotland far from the roaring crowd

Where a simple grave marks out a life not haughty, rich or proud

Here lies an Irish dreamer who heard his children cry

For want of food, or warmth or love and dared to question why?

He raged against the hunger, he railed against the hate

It tore his heart asunder when he saw their empty plates

But dreams can’t feed these children so in his mind was born

A scheme to found a football club to take the world by storm

So a band of men he gathered and told them of his scheme

A community was put to work to build up Walfrid’s dream

And the little ones had food again and the older ones had pride

From far and wide they came to see his marvelous Celtic side

They carved a place of honour and they met with destiny

From Celtic Park to Lisbon’s sun it was plain for all to see

That Walfrid’s dreams had all come true but yet he wanted more

As the wind-blown grass around his grave heard the distant roar

He would smile on all the glory his famous club had won

He’d be glad his people’s children left the shadows for the sun

But he’d point to all those others who hunger here today

Will we watch their trials and struggles and mutely walk away?

There’s a quiet corner of Scotland far from the roaring crowd

Where a simple grave marks out a life not haughty, rich or proud

The man has gone to his reward but his dream it echoes still

For children still need food today, will you help their plates to fill?

In Memory of Brother Walfrid   (1840-1915)

Dreamer of dreams, friend of the poor. RIP