(In memory of Gabriel Daly, Theologian. Teacher, Friend)
The last day I called
You talked of how your mother, a dentist,
Treated three German soldiers during the war
And women up along the house
Hung over the bannisters to get a glimpse
Of the arrival.
And of how, once, as a schoolboy in Bray,
A German plane, swooping low over the football field,
Came within inches of you.
We laughed at the recollection
And spoke, laughingly still,
Of how you used to teach us,
Who lived in softer times,
Of God, who is sweet God of all
And does not limit us.