Newry City

In Newry City where the Clanrye sighs,
Beneath the watchful eyes of Mourne’s blue hue,
The old canal still whispers through the skies,
Reflecting centuries in waters true.

Cobbled streets recall a market’s hum,
Where linen once was traded, bright and keen,
Now cafés spill their steam where trams once came,
And laughter rings beside the historic green.

St. Patrick’s spire points to a steadfast sky,
While shops display the Union Jack’s proud gleam,
Yet Gaelic lilt still drifts from passers‑by,
A blend of cultures, a living dream.

From the Yellow Mile to the quiet quay,
Newry City beats with loyal, British heart.