Saturday, May 16, 2020

Going Without Saying by Bernard O'Donoghue

Going Without Saying

It is a great pity we don’t know
When the dead are going to die
So that, over a last companionable
Drink, we could tell them
How much we liked them.

Happy the man who, dying, can
Place his hand on his heart and say:
‘At least I didn’t neglect to tell
The thrush how beautifully she sings.’

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