I paused in Mullinarockan valley
Stone walls whitewashed
His handiwork,
There he had toiled hard never cost him a care.
I looked sadly around,
 But he was not there.

Back to the higher ground
I scanned the familiar farmland
There the scene of threshings
Reaping, potato gathering,
Where he’d done more than his share
I knew in advance
That I searched in vain
And he was not there

Nearer home I observed
The milking quarters,
Where though rooted in the past,
Nevertheless he adapted to the new ways
Electrically propelled
In this quite well he’d fared
Excelled in cleanliness
He measured gallons for T.M.C.
But now alas he is not there.

Last Thursday
Feast day of the Eucharist
The Sacrament I brought to his bedside
Three of us joined him in prayerful celebration.
He, dedicated to work, dedicated to prayer
With just a pair of days of life left,
I left him with the feeling
That already for all he wanted,
Already He was there