by | Oct 6, 2023 | Poetry | 1 comment


There it stays, the empty chair,
Where once our Rory sat there,
It stays there empty day by day,
It’s been like that since Rory went away.

Rory enlisted to do his bit,
The army took him, found him fit,
Whisked away to a bloody war,
That’s the last of our Rory we saw.

Month by month his letters came,
Ending ‘with love’ and then his name,
The letters ceased, they came no more,
He paid the price in that awful war.

The telegram came with the dreaded news,
No more will our Rory his chair choose,
The family wept, the family cried,
When the news came that Rory had died.

In time his posthumous medal came,
Engraved on its edge was his name,
Although pride was intended there,
It couldn’t make up for Rory’s empty chair.

No more would he sit and eat with us,
Laughingly tell Mam not to make a fuss,
His sparkling eyes and smiling face,
Would no more the family table grace.

Yes, Rory’s gone, he did his duty well,
In a foreign land does his body dwell,
His name forever engraved in stone,
With the other heroes never coming home.

While at home sits his empty chair,
Never again will our Rory sit there,
Although we know it’s an empty space,
It will always be known as ‘Rory’s place’.

Written and illustrated by Will Roe 6th October 2023

1 Comment

  1. Mac

    Hitting that feeling of loss beautifully. Thanks for sharing William.


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