Lilting of Kildare, Cork or Kilarney,Β 
She says to lie oh so still oh;Β 
(still as death, glad as a babe, o lucky me)Β 
Hugs my face to her bosom tightlyΒ 
As she drags a sensor firm and slowΒ 
Across my chest to sound and chartΒ 
A derelict heart full fathom five below.Β 

Even my mother’s tired sighsΒ 
Can be heard down there still,Β 
As she grudges a life to her son;Β 
No, there are no lullabies;Β 
A child herself, she never sang.Β 

Now, all I desire is this Irish rose to sing —Β 
By the Rising of the Moon, O Danny Boy,Β 
Cole Porter, an ad jingle, any damned thing!Β 
Your smile, your voice could forever cure this heartΒ 
but as you leave, I can only say, “Erin go bragh.”Β