Little White Lies

My mother was an Irish country girl, very superstitious and quite frightened of Leprechauns, Fairies and the many other variations.   I honestly do not think that she was really in fear of them but that she deeply believed in not tempting fate.............

I wrote this little poem about her and the same little scallywags..............

‘The Little People’.

‘  Don’t trample down that mushroom’

My mother used to cry,

‘ You don’t know what is under it’

I always wondered why.

She told me when I was older,

About the Little Men,

Who lived and worked ‘neath toadstools,

Away down in the glen.

She told me how she’d  seen them,

On a cold November morn,

She said they gave three wishes,

The day that I was born.

Her first that I’d be healthy,

That I would be a boy,

The next that I’d be clever,

And be her pride and joy.

The last that I’d be happy,

When I became a youth,

That I’d be always honest,

And forever tell the truth.

The years they passed, as did my mum,

Oh how those years they fly,

My children came and as they grew,

I continued not to lie.

But the memory of the mushrooms,

It sometimes makes me wild,

When often I, repeat that lie,

To frighten my grandchild.

----Mike---