Edge of the World


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.

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