A 3-Minute Irish Song Poem by Mark Heathcote

She went so, young
I still haven't heard what happened.
All I know is
there are pregnant moments where
you should fill up your lungs
draw in fresh, abundant air.
But at times right out of the blue,
Death, herald's silence to a song
removal of a dream, that golden tune
that wasn't yours or hers for very long.
But it's now Death,
who is joyous Baby, can't you see
you've given him all the stones
and ammunition,
all the artillery he can throw at you and me.
She went so, young
But I still haven't heard what happened.
All I know is, soon it will be you or me coz
life at times is just a 3-minute Irish song.