Laid To Rest

She lived in the Bronx

But will be buried in Burrishoole

Beside the quiet water of Clew Bay

A life lived in America

The bustle and the noise

But home is calling

Ever was the way

 

The Last Judgement window

In Newport’s towering church

Will welcome home the girl who went away

The crowded streets of New York City

Far off fade away

I am home at last

Home I mean to stay

 

How many millions went like this

Away across the sea

To London and to Manchester

And to Boston breezily

And lived their lives hard working

In noisy busy streets

To end their days on foreign shores

Where only memories meet

 

But some come home at close of day

Coffined and confined

To lay their bones on familiar stones

In a place always in mind

My mammy even better

Came back before she died

Sixteen years she had at home

And the heavens how they cried

 

Brian Fahy

22 November 2022

 

+ Many Irish people are brought home when they die to be laid to rest in their home place. The contrast could not be greater, to see the name of the big city where they lived their lives, and then the quiet homestead that they came from. My mammy had the best of it. Twenty years in Ireland followed by sixty years in England, and finally sixteen more years in Ireland again. On the day of her funeral the heavens opened.

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