Bill O'Brien Is Going Home - Poem by Patrick O'Reilly
Bill O’Brien is going home,
Now that he is dead,
To be buried in his native peat,
As the stipulations read
In the handwritten will he made
The very week before he died,
In a burial plot in the parish graves
With bones we’d thought we’d left behind.
They held for him a lovely wake
And the fiddler played rosin the bow
And the entire harbour quaked
To know the man was coming home.
And when I heard the mass bell was ringing
And the dear eulogies were said,
I thought of how Old Bill went home
And wished it were me who had died instead.
Comments about Bill O'Brien Is Going Home by Patrick O'Reilly
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You