Tony Maloney, the leprechaun pony. Image by Rita Sinclair.
Nest
A chick does not have any say in who has built its nest.
Who brings it worms and builds belief that one day it will fly.
How fortune smiled upon us all who nestled at your breast.
You taught us how to love and laugh and how to sing and cry.
When first light hit our 14 eyes – we gazed upon you mother.
And even if we’d had that choice – we’d never pick another.
T’was you who taught me how to walk before I leapt for joy.
And sang to me each night and rocked me gently off to sleep.
You held me in your arms and said you loved your blue-eyed boy.
Now I’ve travelled half the world and climbed the mountains steep.
From boy to man I’ve grown and it’s the seeds that you have planted –
today are fruiting rich and plenty – all you ever wanted.
So as you sit back now, dear Mum, in that old rocking chair –
deep down, you know, that everything I have – is ‘cos you were there.
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