A poem about the Guesthouse at Ballyman

The cars glide softly to a halt, outside the open door
Where stands our smiling hostess, to greet us as before,
For she has done so many times, since first the thought took
And through the years, we’ve grown to love our friends at

Ah would the moment from this scene, could reach the world
A world that’s torn through fear and hate, with passion, greed
and pride.
But here within these sheltered walls, at peace with God and
Recipients of celestial wealth are those in Ballyman.

And now to give my heartfelt thanks, in which you join with me.
To our host and hostess, and of course to our own dear
There’s little we can do for them, yet one thing, yes we can,
Pray you to bless and keep them safe;
With all in Ballyman

This poem written by Mary Smith, a guest at the Christmas party for the blind held annually at Ballyman. You can read more about Myra, the owner of Ballyman, and her life, by reading this article.