In Memory Of My Mother

I do not think of you lying in the wet

Of a Monaghan graveyard;

I

You walking down a lane among the

On your way to the station, or

Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday -You meet me and you say:'Don't forget to see about the cattle - 'Among your earthiest words the angels stray.

And I think of you walking along a

Of green oats in June,

So full of repose, so rich with life -And I see us meeting at the end of a

On a fair day by accident,

The bargains are all made and we can

Together through the shops and stalls and

Free in the oriental streets of thought.

O you are not lying in the wet clay,

For it is a harvest evening now and

Are piling up the ricks against the

And you smile up at us  - eternally.