From PBS Out of Ireland:

Dear sister:

I know today that you are all
( or at least a good part of you)
in Donnemarra Fair.

And I'm thinking as I sit here alone
of the times I had on such occasions.
There are no Donnemarra Fairs here.

There's nothing here
but work hard today
and go to bed at night
and rise
and work harder tomorrow.
Nothing but work,
work away.

John wants to know
if I play the fiddle nights;
but you may tell him
if he was here to put mortar on for a week,
he'd have very little notion of the fiddle on Saturday nights.

I sometimes think
when I go to my room
without anyone to speak to me
of the nights when we used to sit down by the fire
and draw down our old fiddles.

Our meditations are not very pleasant.
However, people need not expect
a great deal of enjoyment when they come here.

Give all my love to my old neighbors and friends.

You'll scarce be able to make this out.
I was just beginning to think
that I had the trowel in my hand.

Farewell all.
D. McIntyre

Write soon!