To Cork we went, three gay men bound
By friendship, love, and years;
to see the rainbow flag preserved,
and honour hopes and fears.

My husband walked beside me there,
our older friend as well;
the family that gay men found
when other shelters fell.

We wandered through the city's streets,
past river, bridge, and quay;
and many handsome lads passed by
as bright and glad as May.

A knowing glance, a fleeting smile,
was shared from eye to eye;
some grinned to see us looking back,
and we smiled in reply.

Within the museum's quiet halls
our history was told;
not hidden now in whispered words,
but written clear and bold.

Gay liberation claimed its space,
its banners proudly raised;
and stories once forbidden speech
stood openly displayed.

The years of HIV were there,
the names, the loss, the fight;
the friends who taught us how to live
by showing how to die.

And marriage too had found a home
among those gallery walls;
the simple right to love made safe,
no longer feared or small.

We stood and wept before these things,
for we had lived them all;
the rise of hope, the plague of grief,
the long climb from the fall.

The young walk freely hand in hand,
their future bright and wide;
yet shadows gather even now
where prejudice may hide.

For every gain can be undone
if memory fades away;
the rights secured by yesterday
still need our care today.

So Cork remains within my heart,
its flag, its streets, its friends;
and family of choice still proves
the love that never ends.