If you could be jealous
Of someone’s resting place
Faulmore takes some beating
For beauty and for grace
Down below at the edge of the sea
Achill in your sights
Atlantic waves come rolling in
What a way to spend the nights
Where will I be buried?
My mother asked of me
The girl from Bangor Erris
Unsure where it should be
But we settled sure on Westport
Close by Croagh Patrick’s height
Where daughters and her grandsons
Could keep her in their sight
And stones to mark our resting place
Our name our age our date
To say we are remembered
Lost is not our fate
And in the hearts of loved ones
The memory lingers on
And the spirit lives forever
Beyond the shining sun
Brian Fahy
16 March 2022
+ I like to read obituaries. They are about life, not death. They can give us good example about how to live our days. I often think about the Mullet peninsula, as well. It is an edge of the world place, wild and lonesome and beautiful. Living at the edge of the world prompts us to think about the edge of life, the end of life and what lies beyond the horizon. The Mullet is beautiful.
Erris Poetry 