By Nuala Carten
What wonderful girls,
How did they come to be here?
Is it possible they are ours, those blessed blasted girls.
Birthing Jesus couldn’t feel better than this,
Watching them grow far beyond our scope
Realising more for us,
Than a shiftless nod to hope.
Afraid to contaminate them,
Aware of our own wonder slowly slipping away.
But hold on look at them now
What nonsense are they up to anyhow.
Why are they laughing, pointing and bringing a crowd?
‘What those two there, the two silly old sows?’
Explaining to their friends who had enquired
Who were the wonderful OLD girls?
We stared at each other, speechless for now.