Songs and poems from camp and after

Mary Mac

There's a neat little lass and her name is Mari Mac

 Make no mistake, she's the girl I'm gonna track

 Lot of other fellas try to get her on her back

 But I'm thinking that they'll have to get up early


 Mari Mac's mother's making Mari Mac marry me

 My mother's making me marry Mari Mac

 Well I'm going to marry Mari for when Mari's taking care of me

 We'll all be feeling merry when I marry Mari Mac

 Now Mari and her mother are an awful lot together

 In fact you hardly see the one without the other

 And people often wonder if it's Mari or her mother

 Or both of them together I am courting


 Well up among the heather in the hills of Bonifee

 Well I had a bonnie lass sitting on me knee

 A bumble bee stung me right above me knee

 Up among the heather in the hills of Benifee


 Well I said "Wee bonnie lassie, where you going to spend the day?"

 She said "Among the heather in the hills of Benifee"

 Where all the boys and girls are making out so free

 Up among the heather in the hills of Benifee


 The wedding's on Wednesday, everything's arranged

 Soon her name will be changed to mine unless her mind be changed

 And making the arrangements, I'm feeling quite deranged

 Marriage is an awful undertaking


(thanks Susan!)

The Summer Day

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life? 

--Mary Oliver

(Thanks, Kathy) apologies to Mary Oliver, hoping that having this here will create more, rather than fewer, readers