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Poetry Pleases: Mothers' Day Gift

On Mothers' Day 1993 an IRA bomb exploded in Warrington, Betty McKay's home town, and killed two children. The horrific event prompted her to write these verses.

What is this gift so patiently fashioned,
Twisted and wound and crafted with care,
Tenderly wrapped and perfectly packaged,
Left by the smiling stranger there?

How loudly the children persist in their crying
Among the crowd's fast flying feet.
Here where the ribbons of scarlet are lying,
Jettisoned wide on the sunlit street.

The warm spring day grows swiftly cold,
And there where a shadowy figure stands,
Shrunken by years, face now grown old,
Poor Maeve weeps upon her ravelling hands.


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