A grand commodius vicus we bestrode,
Through Ireland's rich and verdant countryside,
And heartfelt was the friendship of the road,
With laughter ringing out at every stride.
You loved the birds, the flowers and the trees,
And all the gentle people of the land,
The open skies, the rivers, lakes and seas,
And dreamed of future journeys we had planned.
Then all too soon, upon a Wicklow hill,
A sudden chill ran through the April air;
You left us here to ramble on alone.
One final breath you whispered, then lay still,
Fast in the arms of one who loved you dear,
Silent, upon a peak in Derrybawn.