Réalta i do Shúile(Pronounced: RAYL-ta ih duh HOO-la)It means "Stars in Your Eyes" in Irish

My love and my treasure, O Chris, a chroí, a stór,

You slipped through the world like a bright, splashing stream,

And on a day no different from any other Tuesday,

When the kettle still steamed and the post had just come,

You closed your eyes upon us and stepped through the veil,

Leaving a tost, a deep silence, where your great laugh had been.

O, the cruelty of ordinary mornings,

Mo chreach, my ruin, my loss—

That held no warning, no last embrace,

Only the plans we were making still warm on the stove.

We did not know it was the slán deiridh, the final goodbye,

And the words we left unspoken still burn on my tongue.

But before the quiet took you, a mhic, my son, my thousand blessings,

Before God called you home on that soft September morning,

You found my girl in her faraway country,

You knew her by the look of her, by the soul-light in her eyes,

And you gave her your hand. You told me later,

In a voice that was already half-memory,

"I have brought her home to you. I have brought your baby home."

Mo bhuachaill, my good boy, it was the work of a king,

The quest of a hero, this gathering of broken branches,

This mending of a sundered clann, a family restored,

Something no other soul on God's green earth could have managed,

And you did it with the ease of a man opening a familiar gate.

My dark-haired son, mo mhíle buíochas, my thousand thanks,

For the gift of completeness, for the sound of her key in the lock,

For the sight of her face at my table,

For the ritual of tucking the covers beneath her chin,

For the whispered words I speak into her hair

Every single night—gach oíche amháin—you have given us:

"Stars in your eyes, rosy cheeks, and a happy girl in the morning,

A leanbh, a chroí, my child, my heart."

This is the prayer you purchased, the song you restored,

And I will sing it into the darkness until my own voice fails.

But there is a wound in the singing, a hollow in the hearth.

I did not know that Tuesday was the last,

That the grá, the love, I tossed so lightly over my shoulder

Would be the final one to reach your ears.

So let this be a lesson hard-learned and carved on my tongue:

Inis dóibh go bhfuil grá agat dóibh—

Tell the people you love that you love them

On the ordinary days, the nothing-special days,

For it's then the world can shift and the blessing can be lost.

I see you now, horseman, riding through a bearna in the hills,

Your smile is the solas, the light, on the western sea.

Your memory is a bright, fierce bird that nests in my chest.

Go gently, go singing, a mhic mo chroí, son of my heart,

Your work upon this earth was finished, and it was magnificent.

Go to your rest, knowing you made my world round.

Slán abhaile, safe home, a stór.

Stars in your eyes now, and a happy soul in God's morning.

Suaimhneas síoraí ort. Eternal rest upon you.