I did not write for years, and now
It’s too late as the earth covers
A brown box containing a body
That awaits the resurrection
.
Yet long before that last rising
I can feel a sense of presence
That is richer than my silence
And closer than the unkind sea
That separates us who are
The literate unwriting Irish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Few experiences are sadder than when death intervenes to take away an opportunity to communicate or to meet. The poet expresses simply and poignantly love and a sense of loss.