We put together some poems that focused on various aspects of Nathanael's life. Each on of us read a selection, which was augmented by a timed photographic slideshow.
If the door’s ajar: you’re born in a tent
But little boys will do what they can
So when Mama and Papa to hospital went
Young Nathanael was born in the van!
Our Nat would sleep sound in his pram
And on waking he sang out
But now he is oft in the gym
The place he likes best to hang out
If there was a feature of Nat
It would be his great need for a chat
The substance of his inquiring mind
Took him to the heights he climbed
Sun baking with a book has been done many times
And with a hat as well is not a new thing in hot climes
But Nathanael wore a woollen hat, a beanie t’was no less
And why he’d do so we agree: Is any body’s guess!
Nathanael had an ice-cream a-walking round the zoo
You think he’d be so happy, but he was feeling blue
Why was the ice-cream failing to raise some happy smiles?
The reason was my friends:
That he’d just walked several miles
His attachment to head wear began very young
And boxes were always a hit
He’d bang em, and wear em, and sometimes…
He’d forget to wear boxers… Oh…
…rats!
Riding along on my dinky Joey, when I noticed you
Thought I could go very fast on 4 wheels and impress you too
But 2 wheels are better with Jess on his bike
And the van is faster, so I know which I like
Chorus as desired…
A chance came his way to take to the skies
And when bouncing he’s not scared of falling
His Grandmother tried to open his eyes
Knowing full well it would beat crawling!
The melon was left by the Sisters
To feed poor old Daisy the cow
But Nat felt like munch’n on melon for luncheon
Get this in my belly right NOW!
The brothers three were not so grim
Had horses and goats and chooks
At Fogarty’s pool they all learned to swim
Loved a good story, and read lots of books.
A pressie from Lee created much fun
The world’s most giganticist bubble
Let astray by his brothers at such a young age
Who knows how he’s avoided more trouble?
A golfer,
A gunman
A postie
He’s never cared much what’s been said:
Baguette, bacon, croissant, unnuuus:
Beret on your head.
To get to the top
It’s sometimes rocky
But he found his games
In cricket and hockey
Papua New Guinea held no fear
In the garden he loved the spade and rake
In skin colour he had no peer
The cake…
the cake…
Come on guys: Just give me the cake!
Who’s this boy? We just don’t know…
Sneaking where the cannas grow
With snowy brows and upper lip
I’m sure we all thought he’d lost his grip!
Gimme a head with hair
Blond see-through hair
Shorn short, undercut
Spiked up to perfection
Gimme it done with gel
Gimme it hid by hats
Hair baby, there mamma,
everywhere daddy daddy hair.
Love, love is true
When a computer is new
All the flashing lights & gizmo’s & gadgets
Making it into something that really is…
funtastic!
Where do we begin to tell the story
Of young Monny and our Nat…
Old friends from school
And now it seems it’s more than that…