A deceptively short but nonetheless sincere and well-meant poem for my Irish-dancing nephew, Ben Goulding, son of Rolf [my younger brother] and Gerrardine [nee O’Sullivan] and older brother of Tara and Gemma, who lives in the market town of Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire, to celebrate the fact that on this very day, quite coincidentally the first day of May in the year of our Lord 2002, he has ceased to be merely a youngster of nine years of age, but, in fact, has now commenced, with the incredible zeal that has become his trademark, the eleventh year of his short but very eventful life.
Ben
Is ten
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