When his son Conla had died in #CúChulainn‘s arms, „a burst of anguish like the breaking of a heart came from him. And he cried aloud:
“The end is come indeed for me:
“‘I am a man without son, without wife,
I am the Father who slew his own child,
I am a broken, rudderless bark,
Tossed from wave to wave in the tempest wild;
An apple blown loose from the garden wall,
I am over-ripe, and about to fall.’” #Celtic
Source: „Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster“ by Eleanor Hull