There is a fragility to you now,
Your hands wrinkled and cold,
Your memory fading.

I hate the talk of your death,
It hangs in the air like an icy dagger
Long after the conversation has finished.

Though I know it's inevitable it fills me with dread.
Within the walls of your house
I feel safe and comforted.

A cupán tae offered to us immediately on arrival
To the ever-welcoming 'St. Philomena's'.
The treasured home made brown bread for tea.

Your hearty laugh rings out
Through the old bungalow,
The lines in your face falling into those familiar creases.

Nothing will be the same when you leave,
The heart of this dear house will be hacked out
Leaving only our memories of you.

Thanks to you we have many of them,
Each as precious as the last
Encapsulated in a golden haze.