Anna Redmond put her own death in the Irish Independent as a mischief - or maybe ‘a cry
for help’. She married into Mr. Webster’s hotel and worked there slave-like. Her beautiful
young face, her red hair streaming, cheekily curling, her laughter eyes sad - her husband,
boyishly drinking all the profits. They said she suffered from her nerves! They said no
wonder Tommy drank the way he did! They always referred to her as she – she was a bit
wild, she didn’t fit in, he could have done better for himself – no wonder he hit her. Her red
hair dulled in a mental hospital. Anna Redmond, full of promise, beautiful and lively had her
youthful exuberance quelled by life’s circumstances.
She could sit in that chair for hours
Just rocking the day away
How many kids has she rocked asleep
To its hypnotizing sway
The stories she told held us captive
It's where she read the bible each night
She's always say a prayer with us
Before telling us all to sleep tight
That's where she did her knitting
While quietly humming a hymn
Watching the beautiful sunsets
As the evening skies grew dim
But today that chair sits empty
For my grandmother has passed away
There's no more beautiful sunsets
Or listening while she'd pray
Life for me, has not been the same
For she is no longer there
And how I miss, the good times we had
Around my grandmother's, rocking chair
Beautiful, beautiful days,
beautiful days of youth,
when we were so carefree,
days passing us by,
without thinking of time.
One moment we were
in our youth in those
beautiful days of long past,
school days seemed
to last forever.
Beautiful days of youth,
a faded age that
left us without a trace,
searching for lost time,
disappeared like a vapor.
Beautiful days of youth,
will store what's left in my memory,
beautiful, beautiful days,
in my heart and soul,
will always cherish those days.
wrote 8-29-07
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