Sitting still with twilight
high above the Celtic Sea.
Not a soul to stir my thoughts,
each one on its own with me.
Sitting by the old grey stones,
among the lost forgotten graves.
Not a soul to stir my thoughts,
gazing down upon the waves.
Each one replaces the one before,
new life making old life's passing,
easier as you mourn
New life makes old life's passing,
easier when it's sore