No more the time, no more to play
Of earthly daily pleasure
Where lay ye down we contemplate
The consequence in measure
No more to see the hour of day
Nor yet the setting sun
The anguish of the passing hours
for the heart and mind of anyone
No more, no more in anguish cry
In echo to this day
But rest in peace where ye lay down
For ye can't come out to play
What then for us but cry no more
When we've quietly walked away
But remember well these saddest hours
When we watch our children play.

by Edward J. Costello

Other poems of EDWARD J. COSTELLO (2)

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