My great great great Auntie Esther Arbuthnott whose photograph I dearly love.
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