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I know a woman who forgot to grow up.

She never made it past childhood; it seems.

Though she has inhabited this planet

for nearly as long as Methuselah,

she has avoided all the dregs of Time:

intoxicants like bitterness, regret and cynicism.

While the rest of us cope with the arterial sclerosis of hope

she sees nothing but new horizons and expanding possibilities.

While others are crippled by pains, physical or spiritual,

she blithely dances to the enchanting music of life.

No wonder she has no time for old biddies or those

who sit like dust, waiting for the Great Vacuum Cleaner.

When Christ predicted that “only those who became as little children”

could enter the kingdom of Heaven, he had people like her in mind.

Perhaps, she’s an exile from Tir na nOg, that marvellous state

Where the clock never passes noon and evening never falls.

No wonder they are thinking of creating a new Bank Holiday

in her name because hers is the perpetual Springtime,

Always looking forward to better things is our Brid Og.


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