To a child, a birth poem, from his grandfather.
I held you in my arms a few days after your birth.
Five visitors all got to have a hold of you,
And despite all the passing around,
You never made strange.
Five day old eyes,
The eyes of the ages,
Squeezed open to see who held you,
And then retired back to curled up milky sleep.
You are new and it’s all so new to you.
Outside of your mother’s womb,
Every first is there,
Seeing light, even breathing air.
You have my heart.
I am as Lugh, a wanderer,
Son of Cian of the de Dannan
And Ethlinn of the Formor,
An uninvited stranger appearing at your dawning door.
Many skills I have, many things I know,
Much I can rightly boast of,
Much I’m ashamed of too.
Many travels have I made,
To many strange lands,
Many things have I seen,
Things both beautiful and terrible,
But never one as beautiful as thee.