From Dublin he came, or a village thereabouts;
No doubt it was the potato famine drove him out;
Just another starving ‘****’ sailed to Liverpool town
Then onto Hull, where roots were put down.

The decadal Census Records take up his story thereon:
The cheap rooms he rented, rough streets lived on;
Close to the docks and the Irish pubs now gone,
Seems he finally settled with Mary, whose hand he won.

Yet the Records tell little of his actual life:
The day to day struggles, disappointments, strife;
Whether he loved Mary and their four children well,
Is something it’s impossible from statistics to tell.

There’s no hint either that if we could meet one day
We’d find a connection, things to say.
Maybe we’d hang awkward, the moments tense and long?
‘Though I like to think the familial bond would kick in strong.