Furrows chiselled by winds and the ages
a lifetime of love and travail.
Bright eyes tell many tales
Deep and young as today
Ruddy, sunken cheeks in contrast fail.
Waning, winding slowly down
sparkles of the fire of youth still shine
memories, tales of yore, of love and the songs of childhood. Don’t let go; not yet.
The stories pour out,
the songs, the drinking songs, the fighting songs all sound vaguely familiar,
but the passion remains and fills the lack.
Sometimes it’s hard to listen.
Don’t stop, don’t stop telling the stories that formed us, that made us those who share your name.
And one day we will sing too!
They sanctify the pains, the troubles, the turbulent times
as if to say all is well.
Stories of friends and family all gone,
glad that someone remembers.
Stay. Tell the tales, sing aloud
details escape, verses forgot
but it matters not, not at all.
Make us remember.
That one day we too will sing.
Slainte Jim!
Paul Russell: Musings 