When I was young
We left our Granny
Back in County Cavan.
She surely thought
We'd meet no more
On this side of heaven.
I was but a boy of three,
One of some eleven;
For many years
She wrote to me,
From three to twenty-seven.
Inside that air-mail envelope,
She told how we were missed,
She always sent a handkerchief,
Stitched with her Irish kisses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem