Hugh Mcgonagle
Hugh
A gentle soul, a humble son, shed softly in the garden
Seduced by man, led to betray, a life to pray for pardon.
Tones which spoke, with perfect tune, would pierce his tender marrow
To release joy, or conjure pain, and make his being narrow.
He’d disperse fear from absent light and shadowed misdirection.
He did not learn to seek a sight, nor tangible collection
He built a strong and simple home and slept forever grateful
McGonagle
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