• My father played the melodionOutside at our gate;


      There were stars in the morning east;


      And they danced to his music.


      Across the wild bogs his melodion called


      To Lennons and Callans.


      As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry


      I knew some strange thing had happened.


      Outside in the cow-house my mother


      Made the music of milking;


      The light of her stable-lamp was a star


      And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.


      A water-hen screeched in the bog,


      Mass-going feet


      Crunched the wafer-ice on the pot-holes,


      Somebody wistfully twisted the bellows wheel.


      My child poet picked out the letters


      On the grey stone,


      In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland,


      The winking glitter of a frosty dawn.


      Cassiopeia was over


      Cassidy’s hanging hill,


      I looked and three whin bushes rode across


      The horizon – the Three Wise Kings.


      An old man passing said:


      “Can’t he make it talk” –


      The melodion, I hid in the doorway


      And tightened the belt of my box-pleated coat.


      I nicked six nicks on the door-post


      With my penknife’s big blade –


      There was a little one for cutting tobacco.


      And I was six Christmases of age.


      My father played the melodion,


      My mother milked the cows,


      And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned


      On the Virgin Mary’s blouse.



Subscribe To Our Newsletter & Receive Your Free Gift

Your free Ebook & Playbook to show you how that

You Are An Amazing Manfestor

You have Successfully Subscribed!