St Patrick's Day was once my favourite day of the year. A day where my family came together for much joy and frivolity when we celebrated the birthday of my darling father... Patrick. A jovial little man with a big belly, beautiful blue eyes and a wicked sense of humour.
Sadly, for the past 10 years I've seen this day as a stark reminder that 'the funny old bugger' is no longer with us and that my heart aches to think that he didn't quite hold the luck of the Irish and live forever... damn it!
So each year on St Patrick's day I raise a glass of green beer and say... Dad I loved you then, I love you still and I will never forget you, but on this day I will shed many a tear as my wee heart breaks without you.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.