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Poetry
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| Whispers | |
| By brolgablue | ||||||
| 17 October 2006 | ||||||
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When sleep evades do you ever hear whispers? The brass plaque on the home where I lived as a child read "ERIN". My grandparents were Irish immigrants to Australia, I fancy something of those who lived in that house lingers on. Sssshh, Listen, do you hear a whisper as you lie abed at night? Do you hear the lilt of celtic voices as you rest? Listen carefully and heed the tales they tell. Adventure, joy and sorrow are in the songs they sing. What brought you Anthony, from wild and rocky shore? Was the scent of golden wattle sweeter than the bitter haw? Why came you Julia, so far from Phoenix Park? Were you answering the call of the magpie lark? Sssshh, Listen, the boys discuss the footie, the girls the latest show. Patrick is playing Beethoven and next a ragtime tune. Soft murmurings from the Nana as she tells her beads and prays, "Begorra, send the rain Lord and end this fearful drought". And now there is a childish voice, the grandchild, lost and sad, "Acushla, alanna, come share my goody bread". With so much love around her, the tears will turn to joy, as girlish laughter echoes through "Erin's" happy halls.
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