The Ring Poem by John F. McCullagh

It was wrapped in tissue paper, a simple golden ring.
It had belonged to my grand-aunt, it was a treasured thing.
She herself had bought it; that itself was extraordinary.
As was everything about that night and the man she was to marry.

Joseph Plunkett was condemned to die at dawn, that rebel with a cause.
The night before they two were wed in accordance with the Laws.
They never had a wedding feast; theirs was no bower of bliss.
Just a hurried ceremony sealed with a simple kiss.

In the chapel at Kilmainham jail, the two exchanged their vows,
knowing death would part them in a few short hours now.
Could you blame him if he held her tight in an extremity like this?
They put the meaning of their lives into a single kiss.

Grace stood outside the prison walls and heard the fatal shot.
The dear sweet man whom she so loved was gone but not forgot.
Grace lived on for many years in a faith that would not fail.
She knew her Love awaited her at the old Kilmainham jail.