Mad Maggie

Mad Maggie’s on her chair,
still waiting for her boy.
She'll just sit and stare
and cuddle that old toy.

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You went away to war,
they say you died in France.
I sit outside our door,
just praying for a glance.
Remember Teddy Bear
and how you couldn’t sleep,
unless you felt him there,
while counting all your sheep?

Your daddy’s gone as well,
he left in Thirty Two.
But we both heard his knell;
he went to search for you.
I’d hate for you to come
and find nobody here.
And what else would a mum
do... but be there to cheer.

Did you ever walk the road
not noticing the way,
the trees and the hedgerows,
were changing day to day?
I hear, when people talk -
it doesn’t bother me.
They squabble and they squawk
and when I smile, they flee.

I’ll hold you once again;
of that, I have no doubt.
And should it be as slain,
then death is no redoubt.
Your voice will reach to me
and I will answer well.
For love will be the key,
releasing me from hell.

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Upon Mad Maggie’s chair,
sits one old cuddly toy.
But Maggie isn’t there;
she’s gone to meet her boy.

Chris Birrane © 2012