Jack Adair

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The Best Poem Of Jack Adair

Blowing Bubbles

It was just the other day, as I passed along the way,
That I saw some little children on the roadside at their play;
I was musing rather sadly, and thinking o'er my troubles,
It was such a curious contrast, those children blowing bubbles
Old Sol was shinning bright, and it was a lovely sight,
Those bubbles floating o'er them, and such laughter and delight;
As they flew about and flickered, then dropped towards the dust,
But like man's imagination those bubbles always burst.
I was plodding on quite slow, but I stopped to watch the show,
I thought it well worth watching, see the colours come and go;
A Raphael with his brushes on canvas might them draw,
And I asked myself the question, was it art or nature's law?
I soon came to the conclusion, and without the least confusion,
That 'twas neither one nor other, but a mingling of the two;
My thinking vein then shifted, in another channel drifted,
As I watched the bubbles bursting, and the way the children blew.
You may think I'm mad or wild, but I tell you it is true,
That though old, I'm still a child; I have comrades, so have you;
For in all our joys and troubles we are always blowing bubbles,
And the bubbles always bursting, they vanish from our view.
The Ex-Kaiser blew a bubble, and old Bonny did the same,
That brought the blowers trouble, although men of mighty fame;
For the Kaiser's bubble blew him into Holland for a while.
Whilst the other blew the Corsican to St Helena's Isle.
They filled us all with dread, there were myriads of dead.
Oh! they were mammoth bubbles, that brought with them a curse;
We are still weeping for those dead, and the seas of blood 'twas shed.
If the bubbles hadn't burst, 'twould have been a great deal worse,
There's another bubble blower that blew long, long before.
He is suffering for his blowing, and will for evermore;
I had near forgot to tell, but it blew him down to hell,
We are told there's no redemption, but we often hear his roar.
It is envy breeds those bubbles, that those bubble blowers blow.
But like dreams they're oft contrary, and bring the blowers low;
I won't lie, I must be just, they would blow you into dust.
I have seen them blowing bubbles, so then I surely know.

John Coleman (Ireland 1855-1938)

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