One that I simply know as "Kilkelly", but have no idea who wrote it... goes like this:
Kilkelly Ireland, 18 and 60, my dear and loving son John,
Your good friend the schoolmaster, Pat MacNamara's so good as to write these words down.
Your brothers have all gone to find work in England, the house is so empty and sad.
The crop of potatoes is sorely infected - a third to half of them bad.
And your sister Bridget and Patrick O'Donnell are going to get married in June.
Your mother says not to work on the railroad and be sure to come on home soon.

This time of year, I find it hard to make it all the way through without choking up. And I've yet to find a way to sing around a lump in my throat.

--IceWolf