On The Premature Death Of Two Children Poem by Martin Patrick McCarthy

In spite of my protest, a new day is born,
Sun chases moon; I am forlorn.
If the Sun were considerate, He would give me leave
So that I may have ample time to grieve.

Time, Death's cruel master, hurries the hearse near
While men put affairs in order, and make conscience clear;
Tis the natural order, all must die.
Yet man doth protest and question 'why? '

But what of these two children? Died before birth.
They did not even get to walk this shady Earth.
Taken before life had begun;
The thread is cut, 'ere tis spun.

Why? I question why! They had no affairs,
No conscience. They've yet to ascend the stairs
And be greeted by the sight
Of the world in its princely grandeur and light.

I wonder, I wonder what thou could have been
Had you the light of day seen?
I dream of a Gray old man standing guard
Over your grave in a country churchhyard.

At the death of day I see him alone
Standing mournfully in the garden of stone.
In the winter air, I see his cold breath
And ask him of his vigil over death.

'In vain, ' he said, 'I stand where they lie
And mourn when others neglect to cry.
We work and we toil, but try as we must,
As slaves to Time, we must come to dust.'

'This one be husband, this one minister,
This one be faithful, this one sinister.'
But what of these two, who had yet to live?
I wonder what to the world they were to give?

'They were to be great, both Truth and Justice,
To bring to the world what ill we practice.
Pure and Divine, be both Peace and Love
To make this world the place poets dream of.'

I wake suddenly, the man has gone away,
The Sun intrudes again; tis the dawn of a new day.
If the Sun were considerate, He would give me leave
So that I may have ample time to grieve.

Time marches on, the world still turns
While your ashes are stowed in my imaginary urns
And while Death wrings his cruel hands and laughs
I, by night, travel to the churchyard to inscribe your epitaphs:

In this world, thou could have been great,
But who is man to question fate?
You are now in Heaven, where you belong
But, here, you still have life in my song.

(4 September 1994)