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.
