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IRISH EXAMINER | January 25th, 2017                     Nora Fleming of the Wicklow            pieces of prose and poetry for her
                                                                Writers Group, who sent us
                                                                this week’s inspiring poem,    own family and Grandchildren for
                                                        is retired from the family business
                                                        in the little village of Redcross in   special occasions like Births,
                                                        Co Wicklow.
                                                                                               Weddings,          Communion,
                                                           Nora is a Grandmother, and loves
                                                        reading and writing. She is an active  Confirmation holidays and emigra-
                                                        member of Wicklow Active
                                                        Retirement Group and she joined the    tion.
                                                        Wicklow Writers Group in
                                                        September 2009.                        If you have a poem you’d like to

                                                           From a very young age she loved     see published in The Irish Examiner
                                                        writing little rhymes and reciting
                                                        poetry.                                then email it direct to ronniem-

                                                           Over the years she has written      cginn@eircom.net.

                                                                                               If possible keep your poem to 20

                                                                                               lines. You may choose any subject

                                                                                               you like, in any form you like as long

                                                                                               as it’s original. We look forward to

                                                                                               hearing from you.

                                                                                                                  Ronnie McGinn

                                                                          THE GIFT

                                                                  In the silence of her little room,
                                                                    She sits by the big log fire.

                                                        The Grandfather clock chimes away the hours.
                                                              Above her a spider weaves tirelessly
                                                                in the light of a flickering candle.
                                                                       Her eyes grow weary,
                                                                   The unfinished garment slips,
                                                                     Suddenly she remembers,
                                                                       Tomorrow the Baptism,
                                                                        Her first Grandchild.
                                                                       With her single needle
                                                                           stitch after stitch,
                                                                         Strand after strand
                                                                  She works at her masterpiece.
                                                                         The logs on the fire
                                                                       burn to black cinders,
                                                                      At last her work is done.
                                                               She neatly folds the soft white robe
                                                                         And shuffles to bed,
                                                                   While the spider unsleeping
                                                                     Works late into the night.

                                     Follow Us On...                            © Nora Fleming

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