In time’s sad passing
Drove from Bray
down to Wicklow
a thick coat of snow
lying across the land
heaped high on the sides
of the road and in smaller piles
perched precariously
on the branches of trees
Winter had turned this part
of the emerald isle white
so that the sheep
in the rolling hills
were hard to distinguish
from the ground they trod
I knew that my aunt
whom I’d left hours earlier
in a hospital bed in Tralee
would be gone before
the next spring came
and the landscape
reappeared in full bloom
I thought of the thin veins
on her hands and her forehead
visible through the pale skin
and I recalled the shallow breath
that softened her voice
so that she seemed already
to have become half shadow
and yet her sharp blues eyes
were as full of life as ever
John Lyons