Going down to the well with Maggie, I’m running to match her walk,
I’m five years old and learning to listen more than talk,
She says, “The well’s a river, that flows to the seven seas,”
She knows what she is giving me, but not what I receive,
Going down to the well with Maggie.
Rose is in her garden, she leans across the wall,
They talk whenever it suits them both and some days not at all.
“Who’s this wee man you have today? he must be Bridie’s lad,
He’s a lovely child God bless him,”
Says Maggie, “He’s not too bad,”
Going down to the well with Maggie.
The can goes into the water, a butterfly rises high,
Rose takes down her washing with a knowing look at the sky,
“Stand back from the well”, says Maggie, “It’s deep as deep can be,”
But I’m still standing far too close in search of the seven seas,
Going down to the well with Maggie.
Walking though the rushes, the can filled to the brim,
A drop or two spills on the hardened path, says Maggie, “That’s no sin,
And gather some sticks you boy you, the whin roots are the best,
To keep the fire a-burning and the jackdaw off the nest,”
Going down to the well with Maggie.
It’s nearly dark inside the house, the pope hangs on the wall,
The sticks go into the open fire with paraffin oil and all,
A voice comes from the wireless, “They’ll walk on the moon one day,”
Maggie gives the fire a poke and says, “We’ll make the tay,”
Going down to the well with Maggie.
Now the lid of the kettle is dancing as flames lick out in heat,
And war breaks out in Maggie’s hearth as fire and water meet,
The cat jumps into the window, “Bad scrant to you!” Maggie calls,
At five years old I’m witnessing Pope Pius the Twelfth’s first fall,
Going down to the well with Maggie.
Saint Anthony was a friend of hers but she stayed at home to pray,
The smell of incense made her sick and the priest said, “That’s OK,”
She could read your cup and tell the age of the children who came to play,
Her door was always open and she smiled to her last day,
Going down to the well with Maggie.
Six women carried Maggie, a sight ne’er seen before,
And I smiled at the smell of incense, the church was packed to the door,
Now I sail across the seven seas, see Maggie and her can,
The key to the door of childhood forever in her hand,
Going down to the well with Maggie.
credits
from These Quiet Places,
released February 16, 2023
Colum Sands : vocals, guitar and mandolin
Nuala Curran : cello
Anne Sands and Ben Sands : backing vocals
Karen Tweed : accordion
Colum Sands is a universal storyteller who draws on a long Irish tradition of poetic musicality to weave songs for the
world.
Drawing on countless performances, Sands uses humour and shrewd observation to celebrate what unites rather than what separates. His latest album “Song Bridge” includes many of the songs written for his extensive environmental campaigning over the past two years....more
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