The Glen

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.



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