Come now Meghan, why are thee not holding my hand? 

Are thee so lost, gal, as to not remember your man?

What soul lingers at the gate beyond? 

Could it be my old mate gone?

 

Where have you been John, since the Great War tally?

For I miss you more than you miss me.

Could you not call out my name, not once John?

I ask for comfort, for you are all I see.

 

Who waits for the cart n'oss, for the market's bread?

Where many a kiss was stolen, in yonder pasture's tread.

A virtuous steal, a picnic meal.

On golden field, a bounty of corn.

Pity the laddie, for many troubles did follow him born.

 

Hide and seek, such childish play.

No peeking, Violet Lily, not today.

For scuffed shoes mean no supper tray.

Would you save a bit for your brother, eh?

No? Violet Lily? Not today, for you long since passed away.

 

The old woollen mitten placed on the post, 

Wi' a winter bonnet lost.

For the desolate father 'tis all such a mess.

The mother's cry, such helpless distress.

The old toy rattle in the apron's pocket.

The keepsake, the locket, for God's sake don't drop it!

 

Morning songbirds rest on high,

Seeking the grub, not ready to die.

Scratch that itch donkey, my trusted old ass.

The weary grandsire, the loser, the tinker, the walkers that pass,

The wretched lass.

 

The faithful dog awaits his master's command.

The bride to cherish takes a hand.

Hark the distant echoes of the land.

Bush o' blackberry an thorny bramble, here we tread, a lonely ramble.

 

Although the years have come and gone,

Many more will pass.

As silent sobs make bosoms sad,

Permit me to be glad?

 

And what about William? Does he not matter now?

His passion gone, for you are here no more, dear Eleanor. 

'Tis vanished on the autumn's breath, tempered by the dew.

A lonely heart stays blue, as his love was just for you.

 

At the old gate they tarry, to seek their lover's face.

Do you see them, my sweet Nora? Can you hear the echoes' trace? 

Pitifully restless, for they ne'er be at peace.

Leave me be! Oh memory!

Pray God just let me weep.

 

For nowt can be done to bring back the dead,

We only wait and wallow.

Such melancholy fills my tortured head. 

The love lost life I dread. The tears, so full of sorrow.

 

Death goes where love doth fear to journey. 

The darkness calls, our bodies weary.

Close your eyes and think of Maerie. 

'Tis easy now, my cherished dearie.

 

The traveller's joy, the nod from a boy.

Such bliss, not amiss in a harvest sun.

Rotting gourds in 'tober month end.

I pray for thee, my long lost son,

And plead…When will God be done?

 

© 2023. Mrs WH