(found in Seamus Heaney's prose-book Preoccupations, p. 25 in my copy)
One fine October's morning September last July
The moon lay thick upon the ground, the mud shone in the sky.
I stepped into a tramcar to take me across the sea,
I asked the conductor to punch my ticket and he punched my eye for me.
I fell in love with an Irish girl, she sang me an Irish dance,
She lived in Tipperary, just a few miles out of France.
Her house it was a round one, the front was at the back,
It stood alone between two more and it was whitewashed black.