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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required ESTHER ARBUTHNOT--1847 From Her Ancient Photograph While the rain is falling gently on the roof it makes the sound, of a time that's long forgotten, though it seems to hang around, I can hear you breathing lightly from an Irish dream I've known, it has come to Pennsylvania where you've found me here alone. All the way from County Down, you were a dream I had to find, though so long you were forgotten, you were always on my mind. In your photograph your eyes are reaching out, perhaps for me, I can feel you when I see you, but I never really see. In your Book of Shadows, reading, is another person's sin, but you open it to anyone who's wanting to come in. There's a candle always burning in my window late at night, and I'd love you in a moment, but that wouldn't make it right. Can you hear the raindrops falling? County Down's so far away, or perhaps it's just forgotten, like a dreary Irish day, I can feel it when you're smiling, in the Heaven of your eyes, love is gone and you've been dying, and it's then I realize, you have found it all in Heaven, and it's such a part of you, all the sad you had been living in this life will have to do. it's an Irish kind of feeling, to be dying when you're dead, and a lot of Irish whiskey only lightens up your head. © ron wilson
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