As I go down Glasnevin way
The funerals pass me day by day,
Stately, sombre, stepping slow
The white-plumed funeral horses go,
With coaches crawling in their wake
A long and slow black glittering snake
(Inside of every crawling yoke
Silent cronies sit and smoke).
Ever more as I grow thinner
Day by day without a dinner,
Every day as I go down
I meet the funerals leaving town;
Soon my procession will be on view,
A hearse, and maybe, a coach or two.from Poems, by Seumas O’Sullivan
Dublin: Maunsel & Company, Ltd., 1912
Available on the Internet Archive: Link
(Inside of every crawling yoke
Silent cronies sit and smoke).
T’ats a marvelous t’ing, t’at rhoime is!–Ed.
This is one in a series of neglected poems taken from the Internet Archive.