English poem
Holy Wells
by Clinton Scollard (1860–1932)
At Toberaribba, Sooth, what do you think, ’T is not holy water They go for to drink!
At Tobernanavin, As sure as you ’re born, There ’s dancing and prancing And juice of the corn!
At Tobernacerta, They sport on the green; There ’s laughing and chaffing, And lots of poteen!
At Tobernaglashy, With moss at the brink, There ’s much holy water, But not for to drink!