Polly Poem by Mai Murphy Venn

She wore a black shawl and she wore it well,
Polly was her name and her story I'll tell.
She was born on the day that Parnell passed away,
I am her granddaughter and my name is Mai.
A rare, kind-hearted woman, honest and true,
She was the only real mother that I ever knew.
While telling me old stories of long, long ago,
And singing me old songs that she used to know,
She passed on her customs with culture galore,
With Irish history and legends and plenty more.
She was one in a million and I must say,
I will never forget her until my dying day.
She had a hard life but always a cheerful smile,
Grumbling and groaning were far from her style.
Every year on women's day, I think of this mother,
These are a few words dedicated to her and none other.