When people inquire I always just state: "I have four nice children…

There is a mirror in my room Less like a mirror than a tomb, There are so many ghosts that pass Across the surface of the glass.

I shall not be afraid any more, Either by night or day; What would it profit me to be afraid With you away? * * * For there is only sorrow in my heart; There is no room for fear. But how I wish I were afraid again, My dear, my dear!

My heart shall keep the child I knew, When you are really gone from me, And spend its life remembering you As shells remember the lost sea.

St. Brigid, please keep My babies asleep!

Deborah danced, when she was two, As buttercups and daffodils do; Spirited, frail, naïvely bold, Her hair a ruffled crest of gold.

For life seems only a shuddering breath, A smothered, desperate cry, And things have a terrible permanence When people die.