They came from Killarney and Causeway,

From Ballyduff and Tralee,

To the old Abbeydorney farmhouse

Where lay the late Liam O'Lee.

Like water, the whiskey flowed freely,

Though if you preferred there was stout.

And McBride and O'Flynn

Had brought bottles of gin,

Which politely they proffered about.

We recalled the O'Lee of the old days,

The adventures we'd shared in our youth.

While we reminisced,

A Ballyheige mist

Dissolved the sharp edges of truth.

Long evening stretched into morning.

Sean Monaghan, starting to weep,

Cried, "Why, for Christ's sake,

Do we call this a wake

When O'Lee is so deeply asleep?"

By daylight we buried sweet Liam,

In memory vibrant and bold.

Then, looking around,

I was stunned when I found

All his friends had grown sober and old.

They've returned to Killarney and Causeway,

To Ballyduff and Tralee.

I'll not see them the next time they gather

In dear Abbeydorney for me.

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