Sixth Sunday of Easter
No. 14/17 - 21st May 2017
The Trimmins on the Rosary
I can see that little mother still and hear her as she pleads,
"Now it's getting on to bed-time; all you childer get your beads".
Then we'd softly gather round her, and we'd speak in accents low,
And pray like Sainted Dominic so many years ago.
And the little Irish mother's face was radiant, for she knew
That "where two or three are gathered" He is gathered with them too.
O'er the paters and the aves how her reverent head would bend,
How she'd kiss the cross devoutly when she counted to the end.
Gentle was that little mother, and her wit would sparkle free,
But she'd murder him who looked around while at the Rosary.
And if perchance you lost your beads, disaster waited you,
For the only one she'd pardon was "himself" because she knew
He was hopeless, and 'twas sinful what excuses he'd invent,
So she let him have his fingers and he cracked them as he went.
And bedad he wasn't certain if he'd counted five or ten,
Yet he'd face the crisis bravely and would start around again.
But she tallied all the decades and she'd block him on the spot,
With a "Glory, Daddah, Glory" and he'd "Glory" like a shot.
She would portion out the decades to the company at large;
But when she reached the trimmin's she would put herself in charge;
And it oft was cause for wonder how she never once forgot,
But could keep them in their order 'till she went right through the lot.
But the years have crowded past us, and the fledgings all have flown,
And the nest beneath the Sugarloaf no longer is their own.
For a hand has written "finis" and the book is closed for good,
There's a stately red-tiled mansion where the old slab dwelling stood.
There the stranger has her "evenings" and the formal supper's spread,
But I wonder has she "trimmins" now, or is the Rosary said?
Ah, those little Irish mothers passing from us one by one,
Who will write the noble story of the good that they have done?
All their children may be scattered, and their fortunes windwards hurled,
But the Trimmin's on the Rosary will bless them round the world.
(Extract from 'The Trimmins on the Rosary' by John O'Brien)
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