Patrick O'Reilly - Blackmarch Road

They levelled the old place
On Blackmarch Road
My grandfather built
With his own two blistered hands
When he returned from the war,

The home where she raised ten children
And he raised a toolshed from the bedrock
And a few scanty potatoes from the garden soil.

Though the floorboards groaned and
The well grew parched every August,
It all stood proud, so much like them
Before time cut him down.

Bitter tears when we passed the vacant patch,
Full of vacant memories and vacant heart.

Cruelty, what is she left with?

Patrick O'Reilly

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blackmarch-road/