It’s nearly over
What’s to miss?
Late mornings in bed
Till Mass is said
In stately Cavan or elegant Mullingar
In noble Letterkenny, that lit the star
In dreamy Multifarnam, speaking from afar.
R.T.E. efforts to keep us in touch
With Fianna this, and Fianna that
Ane what they might be at.
They’re meeting, did meet, have met
Made progress. On what?
A government.
But haven't we one. No, not now.
We’re doing O.K., Aren’t we? and see
All we need, is to be
Alive, when this is over.
It’s nearly over,
What’s to miss?
Tony, dear Tony Holohan.
God You were good to make him.
Does his homework,
Delivers his figures, without gesticulation,
We’re up, were down, we’ll be here or there,
When? Where?
When Tony went to James’s
National panic set in
The one that knew
Had caught the flu
And we wouldn’t know what to do.`
It’s nearly over
What’s to miss?
Long quiet time to reflect, through the tattered rags of memory
To dig, to delve to find the inner self,
That needed awakening and weeding.
Action had been on the surface, seemingly.
We’ll miss cocooning,
It sounds precious and delicate,
Wise, with a wisdom
The world needs, and wants to keep.
Cocooners can’t look very far ahead.
But back is nice and easy,
When one has time for it.
We’ll miss gazing in the park, trees, buds just turning to leaf,
Pansies, primroses, hyacinths,
Daisies, awake till the sun sets
When they cuddle up, and envelop themselves
In the sleepy memory of the noon day sun.
Tomorrow they’ll be awake early
Earlier than us, who patrol the park
With slow watchfulness for the sneaky pothole, or hollow.
