Bill O’Brien is going home, <br />Now that he is dead, <br />To be buried in his native peat, <br />As the stipulations read <br />In the handwritten will he made <br />The very week before he died, <br />In a burial plot in the parish graves <br />With bones we’d thought we’d left behind. <br /> <br />……………………………………………………… <br /> <br />They held for him a lovely wake <br />And the fiddler played rosin the bow <br />And the entire harbour quaked <br />To know the man was coming home. <br /> <br />And when I heard the mass bell was ringing <br />And the dear eulogies were said, <br />I thought of how Old Bill went home <br />And wished it were me who had died instead.<br /><br />Patrick O'Reilly<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bill-o-brien-is-going-home/
