| No Reading Born she was in St John's town, A child of Irish breeding, Poverty was her close friend, In a house that knew no reading. Never a book sat on a shelf, When she was just a child, But from her parents learn she did, By listening all the while. Her father taught her nursery rhymes, Her mother sang sonnets sweet, Never a word this child would miss, In that house with little heat. From memory they taught her well, Of places far and wide, Of leprechauns and magic spells, Of wars where men had fought and died. She learned that life was bitter sweet, From story passed down through the ages, All this she learned and so much more, Without the sound of turning pages. They said someday she'd learn to read, From great big books all leather bound, And that she'd travel far and wide, Away from St John's town. And learn she did from great big books, And travel far when she was grown, But in her heart she knew the best, Was taught to her at home. By listening she learned so much, This child of Irish breeding, But the teaching that meant the most, Was in the house that knew no reading. |
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| The Seeker Go down the lane, across, the bridge, Through the grove of trees, Then turn right at the old stone church, It's there you'll feel the breeze. The old ones call it the breath of God, It blows there everyday, Then walk a little further, I'm sure you'll find the way. Just remember when you get there, Stay very calm and still, And you'll hear the fairy music, Come whispering across the rill. The ancient ones said it's the place, Where peace it chose to stay, And harmony is found there too, It's the place where fairies play. But only you with the purest soul, Who's heart is light and gay, Will know that it's a special place, Not just a stop along the way. Then if you choose to share it, Be careful with whom you do, For only those with the purest soul, Will see it the way you do. |
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