Head in hands he was kneeling at their bed

From time to time touching her face and hair

As though incredulous that she was dead

And might waken suddenly unaware,

Smiling that gentle smile so long beloved

In a lifetime of unstinting goodness

Seemingly calm and untroubled amid

Noise and care and unthinking rudeness.

God knows how long he knelt there in dumb grief,

While as a child I watched, feeling his pain.

He stood, mumbling ‘I must hold some belief

That my Rosina’s life was not in vain’

Then with his hand that farewell wave of grace

To the silver hair, closed eyes, the cold face.

Eugene McCabe has written stage and screenplays, short stories and

verse. He is adapting a novella, The Love of Sisters, for the

screen