But by now the boy had reached sixteen, he too had wished to go

where brothers Pat and John had gone, about a year ago.

He had heard the piper calling,

Through the hills, the drones did hum,

and he longed to join the other lads and march behind the drum.

He pleaded with his father Mick, to give him leave to see,

the world behind the far off hills, the cities 'cross the sea.

The father tried to coax him, he'd give him things instead,

in a few years, sure, he'd own the place and later we would wed.

But the father's kind words could not match the yearning of the youth.

The calling voice inside his soul spoke louder than the truth,

until at last Mich granted the boy's request to go,

and consented with his blessing, though we wished he could say no.

He tackled up the pony and they drove down the boh'reen

In the trap they often went to town, when better days had been.

The boy was sitting straight and fine, cap resting on his brow,

in dark grey suit and tie of green, he looked so grown up now.

And as they turned on to the road, to take them to the town,

Just there, as if the world did end, in sorrow Mick did frown.

Yet, he pointed to a field of corn, remarking on it's size,

To distract the boy's attention from the tears that filled his eyes

It was five o'clock when they arrived, outside the railway gate,

And Mick muttered something of being home, before it got too late.

Sure 'twas just his way of parting, like anyone would do,

without inflicting sorrow on one he loved so true.

He wished that he could say some works, of meaning to the boy,

but his voice began to tremble, so he just bade him - Goodbye.

He was too upset inside himself to manage more than that,

H headed back along the road, that seemed so lonesome then,

His heart was nearly breaking at the turn off for the Glen,

And as he passed the field of corn, he felt a stabbing pain,

"Twas almost dark when he arrived, back to the old homestead.

He took a pony to the field, and there gave him his head.

He heaved a sigh and stepped across, the threshold of his home,

And felt the evening chill more now, that he was all alone.

He hung his hat behind the door, and sat down on a chair,

And sighed again in helpless thought, for one who wasn't there.

He listened to the ticking clock and with release he cried,

He wiped the wet from 'neath his eyes, the oil lamp he did light,

Then taking paper, pen and ink, he began to write.

And when his writing was all done, he bowed his head in prayer

And thought of all his loved ones, who with him life did share.

"Dear Father, King of all the world, of sun and moon and sky,

please keep from sorrow, fear and want, my last surviving boy".

He prayed for Mary, Pat and John and lastly for himself,

and put the letter he had wrote upon the dresser shelf.

He pined away the days that passed, in weather cold and bleak,

'till illness claimed his life at last, the end of the next week.

Then after neighbours laid him down, to rest on Sacred ground

and came back to lock the house, the letter there they found.

'Twas handed to a clergyman, who kept it safe and sealed,

but when no caller claimed it, it's contents he revealed.

All the people came into the Church, as he had asked them to.

So many that each place was filled, except the O'Meara's pew.

to hear the words of Mick O'Meara, in this letter tell,

it is no Will or Testament of wealth or worldly thing,

O Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling, From Glen to Glen and down the mountain side,

The summers gone and all the flowers are dying,

'tis you must go and I must bye.

But come you back, when summer's in the meadow

or when the valley's hushed and white with snow,

'tis I'll be here in sunshine, or in shadow

His words touched every soul inside the church that day.

Their hearts filled with emotion, at what they heard him say,

And then a silence fell so still. on everybody there,

They all knelt down, and humbly bowed their heads in prayer.

A flood of sunshine filled the Church, and with it's rays there came

The colours of the rainbow, through each window pane,

And through the vale of light, he thought that he did see

Some people in the seventh pew, where O'Meara's used to be.

A man, a woman and three lads, one was a fair haired boy,

And he felt the presence of the Lord, of all the earth and sky.

He called on all the people, to join with him in prayer,

"Dear Brethern, may your hearts be glad, and may you weep no more,

the light that fills the little Church, comes straight from Heaven's door,

where those who passed this way with love, in hearts so true and pure,

have no more pain of parting, or sorrow to endure.

Weep not for Mick O'Meara, nor his fair haired boy,