We climbed the rocks above the gorge
to have your party as you wanted.
The evening sun shone from the ancient
river like a fire encased in steel.
The air, sweet and cold, rang little
breath clouds as we sang your Irish song.
Anna, swaying as she sang, held to you as you
had held to her when she was still your child.
You didn’t mind the clinging; you seemed
in no great rush to go your way alone.
When finally it was time for you to leave, you faltered,
torn between falling back with us and flying free.
Just then, the wind picked up the tune, the trees
piped out your name, and we in silence watched
as you embraced the sky.