The Waked Corpse Poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh

As is alive, she sleeps serene
Never again to wake...
And neighbours from near and far call
To give comfort, for the families sake.

Those who know not, think the deceased is loved
By sundry and by all
But when alive, it was heard not
The names the deceased others her did call.

Not to her face: no, but in whispers
And glances, understood by each other when seen
But though hidden from the eyes,
Each understood by the deceased had been!

Speak not ill of the dead, so it is said
And so good of her and prayers for her by all are uttered,
But, it seemed to some - maybe it was the rum -
Her lips moved... and 'God Damn You All! ' she muttered!