The glen is empty now I know
The families gone – gone like the snow
And I am sitting here alone
Dreaming of where I used to go
It was my mother’s native home
The place from which she had to roam
To Manchester across the sea
Leaving her mother all alone
We journeyed back her home to see
Meeting cousins one two three
And played away the livelong day
And home again to have our tea
About the glen I‘ve had my say
The high blown clouds the fields of May
The gentle river flowing by
The moorland on a summer day
The memory can make me sigh
The folk now gone can make me cry
God rest them all where’er they lie
God rest them all where’er they lie
Brian Fahy
28 March 2023
+ Robert Frost’s poem Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening prompted this imitation.
Erris Poetry 