Eleven fifty-nine in the evening
An old clock happily beamed,
On the night of the Full Moon
When a newborn didn’t scream.
“It’s a girl! It’s a girl!”
Bellowed a jolly midwife,
As she hugged the proud man
Who had created the life.
“Do you want to meet your angel?
Are you ready to hold your sweet?
She has a perfect little body,
But I think she’ll have HUGE feet”
The father snatched his tiny bundle
And ran straight for his horse,
The midwife was horrified,
But didn’t follow his course.
On a magical spring night
Caribbean villagers recall,
Horse’s hooves beating sleepy ground;
Echoing of a proud father’s call.