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“Never grow too old for Magic”

 

“Never grow too old for Magic”

 

My late mum, who I always shed tears over at Christmas

As I listen to King’s College Choir Cambridge

Carols the old way

The marvel of boy’s voices before puberty

I was beautiful boy soprano

I didn’t understand its fleeting preciousness at the time

I loved the singing with other gifted singers in harmony

But yunno boy’s schools are built on thuggery

Regardless, I’ve reclaimed my love of listening to boy’s choirs

Precious for the brevity of their singing lifespan

Anyway, listen to Herefordshire Carol

The old melodies

Ethnic music it is

I always weep & think of the night before Christmas

& the peace in the air

& the reverential labours of my parents

The Miracle of Christmas for me

I loved it, I still do

Songs of Peace, the innocence of children

I am so thankful for the beauty of our Christmas Eves

& Father Christmas didn’t get milk

He got brandy! Haha

Anyway, mum was special

She was surely one who was “looking at the stars”

To borrow from Oscar Wilde

on our gutter dwellingness

& when he beheld mum

An incredible love story

So Dad too was transfixed by the stars.

 

We grew up under the spell of Bronte-like passion

Anyway, mum got me a beautifully illustrated copy of The Hobbit for Christmas one year

& dedicated in it “Dear Malachi, never grow too old for Magic.”

Dear mum, I haven’t

I still see it all around me

And I feel it as I listen to boys rejoice in song

Not putting on false bravado

Like this immature, repressed culture

But rejoicing in song

Miracles indeed they were born

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2023.

 

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