When the light was white from Tilley lamps
And the boat to Holyhead was overladen,
The postman was a sight for pure delight
As casually from his bag he took the letter-
A scrawl whose hand you instantly recall;
The Queen herself stamped in the corner
Above the exile’s home address, silently
Overseeing the sadness of the sons of Erin.

Matt Mooney

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/across-the-irish-sea/