Sunday, May 28, 2017

In memory of Kevin and Lily Murray

Kevin Andrew Murray 1920-1980

Cut down cruelly by a stroke
Though not yet fifty one
He never once complained
But accepted his fate with faith.

Blessed at school with good results
But lacking father, mother
His career never achieved quite
What with good advice it might.

Lily said he'd have made a great priest
A bishop or a cardinal
Without direction fortunately
He duly formed a family.

Stern but fair, he didn't know
What hadn't been shown to him
Losing father just aged four
While mother moved to Britain.

Raised in part by sisters
Who kept an eye on him
But must have worried plenty
As he attacked life in his twenties.

But meeting Lily slowed him down
And having family steadied him
Being a father suited him
How he enjoyed his garden!

With an intellect as wide
As the Barrow in full swell
He read and studied avidly
The 'good' room was his library.

Devoted to his God and church
Learn-ed more than many
So called experts in the cloth
Peerless intellectually.

Devoted to his rosary
On the carpet floor
The evening prayer with trimmings
Always room for more

For one more prayer or cause
An unwell friend or Africa
Nothing too small or far
The gate to the spirit left ajar.

For eight years more
He soldiered bravely on
Things were tough at times
But he rose above them.

Till at last he passed away
On the floor of a grocery store
Buying chocolate as a treat
For my younger sister.

The last cheque he made out
Was to Bunny Carr, a charity
Lily questioned why the wealthy
Didn't pay as much as he
'Lily' he said 'it's simply
The rich, they can't afford as much as me!'

Lily with a 'B' 1919-2014

Lily, Lily, quite contrary
To spell your name with a 'B'
Yes, that's 'B' for Bridget
And the passport man
Is just as confused as me.

Known through your life as Lily
For some strange reason though
Some bills come addressed with the L
And some addressed with the B.

Saving from a school girl
Until you well passed eighty
The prudent virgin in the tale
Like the sailor out at sea
You always trimmed the sail.

Always careful, always frugal
Though generous to a fault
Kind to young and old
Except to yourself of course.

Sitting here in the sunshine
Of my country paradise
How many meals did you forsake
That I might enjoy this place?

How many things did you not buy
To how many things said 'no'
That I might sit in the sunshine
Is it too late to say thanks somehow?

Maybe the secret is sharing
What I've got, what you gave without caring
The bill, the cost or the price  
The only goodness is the giving.

All here because of your saving
That started in Sligo post office
A good seventy years ago
Thanks Bridget, thanks Lily
 We've something special to show!

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