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I had gathered wood on Christmas Eve
For to keep warm my sweet Niamh
My darling wife was sick with a fever
By her side I vowed never to leave her
She looked up at me and said is it Christmas Eve
I looked at her sad face and said yes indeed
So I reached out for an old piece of wood
I began whittling to make her a gift if I could
I flaked off little pieces for quite a while
I caught her gazing at me with a widening smile
I paid no attention to the product of my knife
My thoughts were with my poor sick wife
When I looked in my hand at the finished thing
I saw I was holding an angel's feathered wing
I turned to look into the eyes of my sweet Niamh
I could see she was gone so I began to grieve
Her face was now free of the pain she had borne
Because she had slipped away into a new dawn
With sorrow I realised why it was her time to leave
She is that angel I whittled on Christmas Eve
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Author Notes
Niamh is an Irish name and it is pronounced Neve.
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