A good choice (Tune parting glass)

An Irish creation using AI
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Write an irish ballad about a man, ne'er do well, whose life was saved by a choice he made. Call it Making good choices. Set it in Australia circa 1820. He is a convict and a bad man convicted for petty larcenny. But in the new land, oppressed by authorities, he makes a choice
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Making Good Choices

In Australia’s wilds, eighteen-twenty’s dawn,
A convict lad, named Declan, stumbled on.
For petty larceny, his soul was chained,
A ne’er-do-well, with heart and hands both stained.

From Dublin’s slums to Botany Bay’s shore,
He cursed his fate, his freedom to restore.
A thief, a rogue, with mischief in his grin,
His life a tale of folly, steeped in sin.

The overseers, with whips and iron might,
Oppressed the men beneath the sun’s harsh light.
They toiled in dust, where hope was hard to find,
Yet Declan’s heart grew restless, unresigned.

One scorching day, a mate, young Tom, did fall,
His strength gave out beneath the chain’s cruel call.
The guard raised high his lash to strike the lad,
But Declan’s blood boiled fierce, his temper mad.

“Leave him be!” he roared, his voice a spark,
Defying power in that desert stark.
The guard, enraged, turned swift to make him pay,
Yet Declan stood, unyielding, come what may.

A choice was made, a line drawn in the sand,
No more a rogue, he’d take a nobler stand.
The lash came down, his back bore every scar,
But Tom was spared, and hope gleamed like a star.

In chains that night, his body bruised and torn,
Declan felt a fire, a man reborn.
For once his heart, so selfish, cold, and grim,
Had chose another’s life o’er his own whim.

The months rolled on, his sentence served its time,
His deed had spread, a tale of grit sublime.
The settlers spoke of Declan’s daring choice,
A convict saved by honor’s newfound voice.

No longer bound, he walked the sunburned plain,
A freer man, though scars would still remain.
In Australia’s heart, where wild winds sing and moan,
Declan carved a life, his soul no longer stone.

So raise a glass to choices bravely made,
To rogues who change beneath the sun’s fierce blade.
For Declan’s tale, in ballad, shall endure,
A ne’er-do-well whose heart was rendered pure.