A BELLY OF TROUBLE , A BUNDLE OF JOY.

A BELLY OF TROUBLE , A BUNDLE OF JOY.

Her Belly Bulged like Hawthorn Hill

Her navel was a Fairy Lios

And I, felt like a king

When I brought my queen a kiss

Inside us both unspoken joy

Was it a girl? or yes a boy.

God my hands were like a potters

Moulding the clay of flesh

When something stirred like a startled bird

SSSSh….....Listen ….........hush

Her fingers drawn across her lips

Life moved and kicked the wall

And in my thought in green and gold 

He was kicking out the ball

Or climbing up a tree

Calling “Hey dad, theres eggs inside this nest”

And I was shouting” come down quick.”

Still, I knew I was blessed.

At night I’d tell him stories when into bed they curled

The three little pigs and how God he made the world

He made it specially for the children, for girls and little boys

For we too are children that sneak playing with your toys.

But then again, it could be a girl

And I would still be her father

And I would love her just as much, for she would be my daughter.

Later on I’d tell her life was an ocean fraught with danger

And even if she was hungry “Dont take sweets from a strangers!”

I’ am sure, I’d catch her playing,

Putting lipstick on her lips

Curlers in her hair, with lacquer and all them clips

And high heels on her tiny feet and varnishing her toes

While dressing up in mothers dressing gown and clothes

She’d come running, crying “Daddy!”

When her doll would loose it’s head

I’d put it back together, and we’d put it back to bed

She’d have lots of friends to play with latter on some lad

And even if his hair swam to the ground

Somehow I’d be glad.

If he would bring her flowers 

Treat her with respect

But the world is always changing 

So what can we expect?

And so, I wish that they taste love

Overcome life’s hurts and pains

Taste a bit of Freedom

Not be shackled up in chains.

If they could keep an Innocence

A wonder, even as they grow old.

And know right from wrong

And do as they were told.

But when I look, inside the crib

I see Joseph, the child and Mary

And I wonder if these things crossed their minds

And was the future then just as scary.

By Tim Buckley