My grandsons grabbed
That plastic packet of pencils
Eager to make their mark
Have you got paper, granddad?
Their question stark
We pretended that we hadn’t
Time now to go home
They’ll make their mark all right
Wherever in life they roam
Our mark says
‘I was here’
I remember as a child
Carving my initials on the gate
BF aged 9 the penknife made
BF aged 11 would follow
The gate long gone
So many marked tomorrows
Our final mark we know
Will be made for us
Here lies in loving memory
On stone
But the important marks
What are they?
What mark of us remains
When we are gone?
There is a mark
Hangs over all the world
A wooden cross that stood
At Calvary
The mark of love
Of sacrifice
A cruel waste it seemed
But rising from the dead
Love is not a dream
Brian Fahy
26 October 2021
Erris Poetry 