THE BURIAL OF THE POET’S DAUGHTER

What an assembly of the old!
Of tangled grey hair!
Of stooped backs and rheumatism!
Of baldness, wrinkles and weak eyes!
Their youth unrecognisable now –
Experts at death this poetic band.
 
But at the base of the altar
Where the coffin was laid
The glass houses of sorrow!
The teeming colours of Spring!
Blue, yellow and rose!
 
The sisters are weeping –
Cries like an awl piercing the heart –
But high in the rafters
I hear the bell of her laughter
Silvered and beautiful.
 
Old age is the common fate;
She chose the opposite. 

ADHLACADH INÍON AN FHILE

ADHLACADH INÍON AN FHILE

Comhthalán daoine críonna!
Léithe in aimhréití ar bhaitheas!
Droinn agus dathacha! Maoile!
Roic agus múchadh súl!
Scáil a n-óige ó aithne –
Foghlaim na dáimhe seo an bás.
 
Ach age bun altórach
San áit ar leagadh an chomhra
Tithe gloine an bhróin!
Raidhse dhathanna an Earraigh!
Gorm, buí agus rós!
 
Tá na driféaracha ag gol –
Éamh mar mheanaithe i gcroí –
Ach ins na fraitheacha in airde
Cloisim cloigín a gáire
Airgeadtha agus álainn.
 
Baineann seanaois le coiteann;
Roghnaigh sise a mhalairt.