Nationality Fraud

I'm not quite Irish-bred

Nor English nor Scottish

Hair not the colour of fireish-red

Or skin the shade of new lambswool

The ones that fill our round green hills

But hair like the winter sky, dark and cool

And eyes not blue

But brown, near black

Not a picture of an irish true

Don't speak the tongue of the Ulster Scots
Or the lilting tunes of gaelic
But I have no plots

To change this place
Our identity in knowing

We're our own wee race

Don't recite the Creed or the Hail Mary,

Soldier Song or God Save the Queen

Or attend church in a building old and eerie

I'm not quite Irish-bred

Nor English nor Scottish

And I'm filled with dread

When I hear that question

What is your nationality?