Archive for the ‘ Poetry ’ Category

Near the Midnight Hour.

Near the Midnight Hour

The clock has stopped near the midnight hour, his Sunday night is over
The life he loved has ebbed away and he’ll be no more a rover
But let’s remember who he was and the things he liked to do
And the gentle ways of the gentle man known well to me and you

His name was Stephen Rankin and he came from Dublin town
A quiet lad and honest dad who put nobody down
A tradesman in the building game was how he made his crust
But the highest standards was his quest and craftsmanship a must

He liked to walk in the countryside when he could get away
Observing creatures great and small as they went about their day
For he knew the way of nature and the path of earthly things
His guide was the creator, the four seasons where his wings

We still can see his smiling face as he walks into the bar
A valued friend to everyone from close by or afar
He played it down the middle and he played it straight and true
And that’s the way he liked it from the likes of me and you

He shot the ‘game’ and he shot the ‘clay’
On the driven-shoot and competition day
But i never thought that i’d see the show
When he’d break the gun and ‘shoot the crow’

But gone he is to the other side
Where the grouse are plenty nor the heather too high
Where in Winter and Summer and even in Lent
He can shoot all day to his heart’s content

The Clockless tower is spilling out with his comrades at the ready
Awaiting the arrival of his cortege nice and steady
They swell out to the car park trying not to push or lurch
Each vying for the chance to hoist their friend into the church

They lift him high and lift him proud upon their shoulders sadly
They bear him slowly up the aisle, his cross they carry gladly
But let’s remember who he was and the things he liked to do
And the gentle ways of the gentle man known well to me and you.

Kevin Thompson
Feb 12th 2008

Rest in Peace Stephen Rankin, I’ll do my best to look out for your lads.