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Page 15 of 18

Gearóidín (Geraldine) Nic an Bháird

A daughter, at age ten, felt impelled to share her delight in a backyard tree, with the following:


My Tree

As the wind blows through my tree,
The leaves rustle and turn,
The sun peeks through the branches,
My tree is beautiful to see.

At age twelve she was facinated with horses.


Still Horse

The wild horse upon the hill
With her mane flowing freely in the breeze,
Standing proudly straight, yet agile,
Neighing softly to herself.

She has the strength to run for miles,
And cool off with a drink,
But instead of running she'll stay on the hill,
Sleek, agile, and still.


Wild Palimino

The wild palimino alone in the country,
A barbed wire fence is her only boundary,
Sleek, shiney, agile.

Wild mane and tail flowing freely,
Thinking proudly of her yearling--
Small, wobbly, fragile.


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