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