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An Irish Vignette - Charon - 02-05-2021
The Cottage On the Hill
*****
Alone I weep for days of yore,
For the merriment, laughter and glee,
When I was happy to the core,
And they were part of me.
*****
Of whitewash I got my Springtime coat,
My door was painted red,
Names on the panes of my windows they wrote,
And patched the bald spots on my head.
*****
But now I sit here in fear and in dread ,
As the wind through my body roars,
The hair on my head is threadbare and dead,
And the rot eats my windows and doors.
*****
Across the fields I watched as my friend,
Was battered to the ground,
Will this be for me, the way it will end,
With neither a whimper nor sound.
*****
Yet still this muted vigil I keep,
For the ones that have left me forlorn,
And pray that each night when it’s time to sleep,
That they’ll return in the morn.
*****
And If they do I need wonder no more:
Did Eileen become a nun?
Or did she marry the boy from the store,
Have children and lots of fun?
*****
Did Paudge get over his stammer?
Is Mary as beautiful still?
Do her cousins still envy her glamour?
As they did when she lived on the hill.
*****
And what about little Seanie,
Is he still known, as ‘The wren’?
Or did he grow up to be brawny
Like all the O’Doherty men?
*****
But that is all wishful thinking,
I wake to the same again’
My heart more deeply sinking’
When no one appears in the glen.
*****
And now my bones are creaking,
I can hear but just, one sound,
‘TIs the reaper quietly sneaking
On his chilling, midnight round.
*****
And I, can hear him calling me,
E’en though there is no sound,
Yes, I can hear him calling me,
As I crumble to the ground.