My Father Played The Melodeon

My father played the melodeon Outside at our gate, There were stars in the morning east And they danced to his music. Across the world bogs his melodeon called To Lennons and Callans As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry I knew some strange thing had happened. Outside in the cow-house my mother Made the music of milking, The light of the stable-lamp was a star And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle. A water-hen screeched in the bog, Mass-going feet Crunched the wafer-ice on the polt-holes - Somebody wistfully twisted a bellow's wheel. My child-poet picked out the letters On Time's black stone, In silver the wonder of a Christmas townland The winking glitter of a frosty dawn. Cassiopea was over Cassidy's hanging hill. I looked and three whin bushes rode acoss The horizon - the Three Wise Kings. My father played the melodeon, My mother milked the cows And I had a prayer like a white rose pinned On the Virgin Mary's blouse.