‘Thinking Of Heaven’
© Joe Canning 2015. All Rights Reserved.
My mother, bless her Irish soul I think about at times,
and wonder what she’d think about us now.
I wonder if she sits aloft and smiles from heavens window,
although she left us long before her time.
I wonder if she hears us when a little prayer we say,
asking her for favours just to get us through our days.
I wonder if she smiles and laughs or has a little moan,
and waits to see if we can sort our problems on our own.
I wonder if she’s angry when she sees some things we do,
and wishes she was here again to clip an ear or two.
Does she sit there with my father, does he tell her not to shout,
saying “settle down Madge, calm yourself, I’m sure they’ll sort it out”
I wonder if he tinkers with an old brown fiddle still.
Has he taught the Angels gathered round the words of Spancil hill?
Do they sing in Irish choirs, dance to Phil the Fluter’s Ball?
Does me Ma insist on singing still, ‘The homes of Donegal’?
I wonder if they’re waltzing round the ballroom floors of Heaven,
If my little sister’s dancing too…eternally eleven.
I wonder if they hoot and cheer and laugh at uncle Dennis,
who would drag St. Peter to the floor to dance the Siege of Ennis?
I guess when all is said and done they’re both not far away,
and sorting out our problems from their great Eternal way
How sad it is we only ask for help when times are bad,
Goodnight dear mum, I love you. Oh, and Mum!… look after Dad.