Who Cares About Molly

Who Cares About Molly?
What about Molly,
whose just reached middle age
But feels like the life she’s living in
is still on its first page?
The eyes she looks out with
are clear, wide and clean,
And nobody will ever take away
the vision that they dream.

What about Molly, whose chest hurts
every time she lies down to sleep?
Whose headache pills and alcohol take away
her will to laugh and weep.
The dreams she has, when sleep comes,
are forgotten by the morning,
The few that remain to weird her out,
are strange and full of warning.

And what of Molly
whose lips are pale and growing thin?
She clamps them tight when smiling
till she couldn’t look more grim.
Her mouth so used to laughter,
her heart so often light,
Tries  to grasp the joy within her,
but is wearied of the dragging fight.

What about my friend called Molly,
whose steps walk in my feet?
Whose heart lives in my present,
and who I often love to meet?
Whose feet are often dragging
whose heart is often raw
Who hides the hollowness behind her face,
and tries to heal the sore?

Who cares, as Molly rides across my mind,
her profile brave and true?
A  loyal woman who always does
what duty tells her she must do?
She holds the dream of mountains high,
beyond the world around,
A dream that stirs within her
when she walks barefoot upon the ground.
She hopes her body will still obey her,
if there comes a time one day,
When she can have the time to live her youth,
and take her time to play.

What of Molly whose years hold her
invisible to the world that is her life?
A daughter, niece, sister, aunt; a friend,
mother and a loving wife.
She’s all of this, and does it as easily
as breathing in the air -
Still holds within the ancient things;
and her younger feet still hover there.
Her older feet are ahead, in times
that haven’t  come to her this time round.
She tries to keep it all alive, and still keep
both feet solid on the ground.

Who cares about Molly,
whose eyes are taking all she sees within?
Not the sullen or the small- minded
who see this as some kind of sin.
But the small mean things will fall away
as she grabs her chance to grow;
And all the Mollies ever will know what she will know...
That Molly lives within us all,
and loves to laugh, to learn, to understand...
For the light shines in all the Mollies,
very strong and grand.

The world needs all its Mollies, to do as duty calls,
but yet hold a true belief.
For without a Molly deep inside,
the world is just a place of grief.

Therese Mackay    March 2001