A Marvellous Morning

I found something out over the last few days. Babies can be fairly difficult to photograph!
I also now know how those paparazzi feel, elbowing people out of the way for that winning photograph. Kieran is coming to our house on Wednesday to meet his great-grandparents, so perhaps I can arrange a personal audience with him...

A Twitter friend, David Braziel (@Braziel), sent me this lovely poem which seemed especially suitable for the arrival of a grandchild. It was written by Michael Thwaite, whom I think is a New Zealander. Thanks again, David!

A Message to My Grandson

You chose a marvellous morning to be born.
The orange edge of dawn, the stars paling,
The glassy lake, the diamond water mere.
The sun, breaking in surf on the Windermellers

You chose a marvellous morning to be born.
Welcome.
And I extend an invitation to tour your native City.

For a start, the view from Ainslee; quite superlative;
delineates Burley Griffin?s genius working after his death
Enlisting trees, hills, water, as friends, he hoped, not subjects, to his plan.

Then we could visit some outstanding features:
St Johns;
the War Memorial;
Civic Centre;
the National Library;
Parliament House, of course.
Regatta Point;
The Gardens;
Capital Hill.

But those who met you first at your arrival
have judged my invitation premature.

You were, I hear, quite tired after your journey.
Found our light trying, though intriguing, too.
Through flickering lids, seemed eager to discover just what was going on,
But had some trouble in focussing the things you had in mind.

And close observers felt that you were opting for further time
to orientate yourself.

In point of fact, it seems, you waved your hands
in general greeting to your Father, Mother.
Then, having twice refused some light refreshment,
you went to sleep.

No explanations needed, my dear fellow.
We?ll simply do our tour some other time convenient to yourself.

The sun is climbing; the City goes to work, and you are here.

You chose a marvellous morning to be born.