The August Groom
The rooster’s song brought the dawn
My mother’s picture beside the range
Gazed down on me boy and man
Twelve years she’d hung there
And still I felt her mothering care
The shunting of carriages came to my ear
Across the fields the train made ready
I hear my mother’s whisper clear
“Go now. Don’t delay
God’s blessing on your wedding day.”
Pulling the door behind me to the rooster’s cry
I Looked across to the Donegal Line
The grey black smoke puffing into the sky
Impatient to be away
I began my journey to Sion Mill
Not for me the narrow gauge
My racing bike eating up the miles
I raced towards St Theresa’s aisle
Three brides stood at the altar rails
My heart swelled with manly pride
My Madge stood there in virgin white
The only one in wedding attire
There was a twinkle in her eye
I wondered as we took our vows
Was she remembering?
Winning two silver cups at Sion sport in ‘35
At the racing bikes finale
In her humble Gallony home
Food, fit for a banquet grand
Fiddlers, pipers, tin whistle aria
Soared to the rafters
Sending sparks a-flying from the dancing
Until the globe of the rising sun
Chased away the shining mom
It was time
Time to take my new bride home
To the cottage by the Donegal rail
And my mother’s image beside the range
With sorrowing tears from her sisters many
And a father’s good wishes ringing out clearly
I claimed my bride
Safely circled in my arms the racing bike’s wheels
Hummed the wedding vows
To have and to hold from this day on
Leave family leave friends and cleave to each other.”
Gemma Hill 2020 ©
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