In the emerald fields where shadows play,
The ancient spirits softly sway,
Whispering tales of times long gone,
As the night embraces the dawn.
The silent hills hold secrets deep,
Where Irish souls eternally sleep,
Beneath the stars, in moonlight’s glow,
Their presence felt in winds that blow.
Laughter and tears in memories blend,
As life and death on paths do wend,
The Celtic cross stands tall and true,
A symbol of lifeâs eternal view.
In the quiet hush of Irelandâs breath,
Lies the gentle touch of Irish death,
A peaceful passage, calm and still,
In the land of green, beneath the hill.