Its inscription, compressed into six dense lines with no spaces between the words, reads as a plea: "Prayer for the soul of Uny Kenny who dyed the 14 of Feb 1687." The letters IHS at the top, a Christogram derived from the Greek name for Jesus and commonly found on Catholic memorial stonework of the period, frame the request. What makes the stone quietly compelling is the combination of its simplicity and its specificity. There is a name, Uny Kenny. There is a date. There is a request addressed, across more than three centuries, to anyone who happens to stand there.

The slab was recorded by Holt, who noted that it lay close to the north wall of the medieval church and that a deliberate packing of smaller stones around it suggested it had been fixed intentionally in that position, rather than simply placed or dropped. This was not an accidental arrangement. Someone wanted this stone to stay put. The year 1687 places it in a period when formal Catholic burial monuments were constrained by circumstance in Ireland, the Penal Laws having gradually curtailed Catholic public religious expression over the preceding decades. Memorial slabs of this kind, modest in scale and often set into or beside the ground rather than raised upright, were one of the few available forms of permanent commemoration for ordinary families. Uny Kenny, whose first name is uncommon and may be a form of Una or Uná, left no further record here beyond the stone itself.