McGrath of Harlow posted this poem on 31 Aug 2013. I wish to highlight it as we approach the 50th anniversary of Derry's Bloody Sunday.

THE ROAD TO DERRY

On a Wednesday morning early I took the road to Derry
Along Glenshane and Foreglen and the cold woods of Hillhead
A wet wind in the hedges and a dark cloud on the mountain
And flags like black frost mourning that the thirteen men were dead.

The Roe wept at Dungiven and the Foyle cried out to heaven
Burntollet's old wound opened and again the Bogside bled
By Shipkey Gate I shivered and by Lone Moor I enquired
Where I might find the coffins where the thirteen men lay dead.

My heart besieged by anger, my mind a gap of danger ,
I walked among their old haunts, the home ground where they bled,
And in the dirt lay justice like an acorn in the winter
Till its oak would sprout in Derry where the thirteen men lay dead.

[not by Heaney:]
Once more I went to Derry where so many now are buried
When all is said and done but still there's nothing to be said
And the blood runs in the Fountain and the numbers still are mounting
And there's dead beyond all counting since the thirteen men lay dead.

On a Wednesday morning early I took the road to Derry
Along Glenshane and Foreglen and the cold woods of Hillhead
A wet wind in the hedges and a dark cloud on the mountain
And flags like black frost mourning that the thirteen men were dead.
And flags like black frost hanging for the thirteen men laid dead

Last night at a Bloody Sunday commemoration, I heard Fiona Gallagher singing this song to a new air. I don't know of any recordings. It can also be sung to the tune of The Boys of Mullaghbawn.