My uncle starts it, kneeling in his garden;

my brother gives a leg up to my gran.

When it's my turn to climb, I get a grip

of my bamp's miner's belt, my cousin's heels,

say 'thank you' for her birthday card as I go,

then bounce on my nan's perm and skip three rows,

land on my father's shoulders. He grabs my ankles,

half dragging me down and half holding me up.

Here he comes, my godson, Samuel Luke,

passed up until he's standing in his nappy

on my head. And now to why we're here:

could the Edwardses together reach a height

that youngest one of us could touch a star?

Sam reaches out. He points towards the night.

Quotes from the Gwales (Welsh Books Council) review by Caroline Clark:

‘Among the poems and stories in the appendix, Jonathan Edwards’ poems show a good ear and a sense of humour.’