Echoes 3 Three things seek my death, Fast at my heels they run— Hang them, sweet Christ, all three! — Devil, maggot, and son! So much does each one crave The morsel that falls to his share, He cares not a thrauneen what Falls to the other pair. If the devil, that crafty man, Can capture my sprightly soul, My wealth may go to my son, My flesh to the worm in the hole. My sons care more for the money That falls to them when I die Than a body they could not spend, A soul that none would buy. And how would the maggots fare On a soul too thin to eat, And money too tough to chew— They must have my body for meat. Christ, speared by the blind man! Christ, nailed to a naked tree! The three that are waiting my end, Hang them, sweet Christ, all three! Source: O'Connor, Frank; Three Old Brothers and Other Poems; 1936; London; Thomas Nelson & Sons Ltd.; p.35