It seems so brief a time
On a January day
You came into the world
And bawled in no uncertain way
You were here to stay.
Now a well-known voice
Announces ‘Very happy’
And we rejoice together
Welcoming your daughter.
‘Madeleine, you say?’
Let her not weep on her Saint’s Day.
There will no doubt be tears,
Over the years,
But laughter too.
Your Great Aunt Maddy knew
Both tears and joy,
But what’s in a name
Of girl or boy?
Is it as Edward Thomas said
That in the name there’s nothing
To one that knows not Old Man
Or Lad’s Love?
He looked forward, looking back,
At what his daughter might remember
And what might not.
The name of Southernwood is warm
The scent is grey.
Like Time it complicates
The thing it is.
But let me for your daughter,
And for you,
Raise now a secular prayer.
Here no wind is howling
Bred on the Atlantic,
The sky is almost clear
Though puff-ball clouds appear
Above the distant trees.
Yet I would this moment seize
To dedicate to you:
May your daughter be
As loyal and as warm
As you have been to me
And to your mother
And to all other
Friends who came your way.
I recall that northern day,
The window open to the frost,
Verbal barriers we crossed
With nurse and doctor.
Soon you made your entry
To a new cold world.
You cannot remember
That Finnish afternoon,
But this warm August day
Will remain for us and you
To treasure for your daughter.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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