Goodbyes

Cursed be the day and cursed be the hour

That I’ve heard of a loss I could not bear

In dismay I sit in my vacant room and stare

At an icon of such a delicate flower

What fierce hand of death what eternal power

Had snatched away the curly golden hair

In utmost grief now I do despair

Of receiving the grace of your love’s dower

The sweet, the bright eyes that I have known

Have gone away into the eternal land

Like a sweet angel he had flown

To the grace of the Lord I stretch my hand

And in my misery, am left alone

Your sweet love, to grieve and mourn

Max O’Reilly