I gave birth to a ten pound baby boy

Happy, huffing and puffing, working hard

Blood flowing, sweat dripping, this was no toy

But mine own true love, a self-dealt card.

Happy, huffing and puffing, working hard

We read of the big bad wolf and three pigs

Mine own true love, that self-dealt card

He sang, I sang, we sang and danced Irish jigs.

Reading about the big bad wolf and three pigs

Opened the world for him with its evil and wonder

He sang, I sang, we sang and danced Irish jigs

Up and down, all around, taking the good with the blunders

Opened the world for him with its evil and wonder

Once he’d learned to drive, had his first girlfriend

Up and down, all around, taking the good with the blunders

Had his heart broken, did not ask, “Would it mend?”

Once he’d learned to drive, had his first girlfriend,

Found another, and another, asked the fourth one to marry

Had his heartbroken, never asked me how it could mend

He looked for work, interviewed alert and all wary

Found another, another and at last one that would carry

Him through life, marriage, becoming a dad

He looked for love, interviewed, alert and all wary

Hi bride, his wife, in black and white were they clad

Moving through life, marriage, becoming a dad

She gave birth to a fine baby boy

His bride, his wife, all in white was she clad

Blood flowing, sweat dripping, this was no toy

Baseball and cars, cards and wolves, hugs and kisses,

For you, my dear son.

dark blue veins stand out as raised rivers

of old blood, draining these tiny islands

The skin wonderfully wrinkled in folds,

all hills and valleys, no smooth plains here

These hands in decades past caressed the hot

brows of sick children, fed them peppermint tea;

chopped, stirred, cooked one hundred thousand meals

washed and dried a million dishes and spoons.

Folded diapers, ironed pinafores, straightened collars

Their work done at last, sweet Oma gently smiles

while her hands lie at rest on her lap

curled up like flower petals with colors faded,

growing ever thinner, drying to dust,

still as stone monuments centuries old