I wear a shamrock on my arm,
high up near my freckled shoulder,
it's been there since 1984,
from those days when I was bolder.
It's not so very fancy, my dear,
but it means so much to me,
for it takes me back to my Auld Eire,
that land I love of emerald green.
10 august 2010
i was walking through the dell has happy as can be
there in the middle i saw a shamrock tree
it had leaves of gold shining very bright
shining in the sun reflecting off the light
there were lots of flowers they pure and white
blooming on the tree so very very bright
in between the branches there sat a little dove
sitting there so sweetly as he sang his song of love
it was very lovely a nice sweet melody
i wont forget his song or the shamrock tree
a light summertime dream
just before dark
unfolding it's scheme
painted in sandals
clovered kissed toes
lovely green shamrocks
are standing in prose
a fierce looking cat
bunting her leg
and giving a purrrr
getting back home
nearly hour gone by
look to the tree
playing ball in the sky
it looks like the moon
nearly 3 quarter size
outlined in countries
is neatly disguised
it's actually a ball
playing with leaves
That thing called the moon
has some tricks up its sleeves
she saw it glide down
and bounce off of a cloud
tipping it's hat
and bowing to town
See you tomorrow
her group of new friends
this just the beginning
we're far from the end
No need for luck
with her beau in the sky
a 3 quartered boy
with love in his eyes
she bows to the moon
as her Gypsy skirt flows
silver cat walking
wherever she goes
shamrock tipped pom poms
will twinkle her toes
Another summer time walk
with his dearest of Maidens
her toes and her eyes
are moon dipped and ladden
Cherie Nolan© 2016
Another year, another Paddies day,
Here in New York, hope for sun to play.
So the Irish celebration, takes winged flight,
Green is the color in everyone's sight.
Parade in the street, down fifth avenue.
The master of ceremony, we don't know who?
But the master this day, stands as St. Pat,
Clad in green, with a leprechaun's hat.
Hear the bagpipes, the drums pounding loud,
This is the Irish day, to stand and be proud!
A Catholic holiday, dietary sanctions they lift,
Eat meat and drink alcohol, is the Popes gift.
What are we celebrating? Let's take a closer look,
Power up the computer or crack open a book.
St. Patrick was born under English rule,
His family was clergy, formally educated in school.
Kidnapped by the Irish, and held as a slave,
To journey back to England he must be brave.
He returned one day to the Irish shore,
About the eternal Trinity, the Irish learned more.
A bishop now, native clove he did use,
To teach the Irish, about celestial clues.
About the father and son and the holy ghost,
The three leaves on a shamrock, they will forever toast!
The three leaves of a shamrock, and it's circular shape,
Are the same as God's Trinity, the logic you can't escape.
This is why the shamrock is so highly revered,
Wear one on your vest, or tucked into your beard.
Enjoy the day, celebrate with family and friend,
Toast to St. Patrick, may his legacy never end!
Set me as a seal upon thine heart, for you are mine
Never let me go, grip me tight like a vineyard vine.
I love that pretty rose that your garden did grow
Betwixt those long beautiful thighs of strength
Exposing that sea shell pink jewel, I do know.
Your garden is so unique, it’s a one of a kind
Such parts are so delicate, that the slightest touch
Produces tropical showers that fill my mind.
Flowing from your meadow, and dripping from
Those soft sensitive pink rose petals,
Golden rain drops that taste O’ so sweet.
Thy lips O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb:
Honey and milk are under my tongue:
Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak,
Every time that they meet.
I love all of your natural beauty,
And I love every lock of your hair
Swaying from a beautiful face, worthy of my stare.
How fair and how pleasant art thou. O love, for delights!
Your calm green eyes in my trance suddenly gave me visions,
Of hypnotic pupil shamrock sights!
I love your seductive soft lips,
One kiss upon them, takes me on so many trips.
My precious 1, your body is a wonderland I cannot resist,
I need for this dream to come true
And if so, I will forever do, everything for you.
You are the Garden of Eden, brought back to life
My only thought now is, I must betroth to have you,
As my wife!
Behold, thou art fair, my love:
Behold, thou art fair; thou hast,
On the Emerald Isle when the brier's green,
Occur strange sights seldom seen.
There's golden rainbows and small clay pipes,
And wee folk dancing every night.
I've heard stories of the leprechaun, but
Before you see 'em they're surely gone.
Yet one green misty night in the brier,
I saw them jigging round the fire.
Sean and I were in green Irish woods,
Gathering shamrocks and just being good.
While searching near a hidden creek,
We heard faint giggles from fifty feet.
Near the giggles grew a small green fire,
Perhaps six inches high - no higher.
We crouched low for a better look,
To our surprise we saw a small green cook.
He wore a tall green hat and pulled-up socks,
And stirred a pot of simmering shamrocks.
Smoke curled from his pipe of clay,
Why, I remember his grin still today.
A band of gold encircled his brim,
My little finger seemed bigger than him.
He had golden buckles and a puggish nose,
Glimmering eyes and curly toes.
Sweet music floated on wings of air,
Fifty-one leprechauns were dancing near.
They passed the poteen with a smack of their lips,
As each in turn took a good Gaelic sip.
Suddenly the gaiety quickly slowed down.
Sure we were that we'd been found.
But they all looked north with reverent faces,
Bowed their heads, stood still in their places.
The banshee's wailing was heard afar,
O'erhead the Death Coach had a full car.
The wee folk respect, it must be said,
Erin's children when they're dead.
Soon flying fast through the green night air,
We spied King Darby hurrying near.
He rode atop his beloved steed,
O'er dales and glens, woods and mead.
His hummingbird lighted on a leaf,
And all the wee folk knelt beneath.
With a golden smile he waved to all,
To officially begin The Leprechaun Ball.
Tiny green fiddlers fiddled their fiddles,
That sounded just like ten thousand giggles.
Dancers danced on mists of green,
Pipers piped, but none were seen.
They danced and ate and passed the ladle,
And kicked up their heels to Irish reels.
We enjoyed the sight late into the night,
But suddenly they gave us a terrible fright.
They saw us cowering behind the trees,
So they cast a spell which made us freeze.
We'd heard what happens to caught spies,
That now are spiders, toads or flies.
Well, old King Darby drew us near,
Sean and I were in a terrible fear.
With a grin and a snap he made us small,
And requested our presence at the Leprechaun Ball.
We reeled and laughed with our new found friends,
'Til the green mist lifted to signal the end.
With a glean in his eye the good King said:
'Tis sure'n the hour yous be abed.
He waved his shillelagh to return our height,
Wished us well and bade good-night.
And as they rode the winds away
I suddenly remembered it was St. Patrick's Day.
I'm sure the lot of you think me a blarney liar, but that night I assure you
I danced 'round a green fire.