Shamrock Lucky Charm Poem
Four Leaf Clover
One leaf is for success,
One leaf is for being blessed,
One leaf is for your beautiful music,
One leaf is for being charmed. ---
(S)plendid green clover.
(H)ere lies some fields of four leaf clover.
(A)stonishing *** of the golden coin.
(M)any have never had such luck.
(R)ainbows' end we have reached.
(O)n our lucky way to.
(C)atch a leprechaun we did today.
(K)indness blessed us with luck now.
When, we freed the little green elf.
He passed a lucky golden shamrock.
on to us from his belt.
This has been a lucky.
Saint Patrick's Day that gave us.
a new friend that passed some luck
on to us today...
Copyright © 2015 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Frankie Laine - I'm Looking Over A Four Leaf Clover
Only a fool would try, in line by line
Of fair assessment honestly expressed,
To paint with words the finest of the fine
Beauties of which you solely are possessed.
No elegance would not seem spread too thin;
And he who'd try would never be believed,
For none would see as truth the truth therein,
But think it all a lover's eyes deceived.
So candid pics and videos must record
What speech could never adequately limn,
And would be doubted elsewise word for word,—
The evidence being hearsay and far too slim.
Yet, all of these leave much too much to doubt:—
All flaws would seem, no doubt, photoshopped out.
Like two caves spun with dusty cobweb-snares
Guarding a cache of emeralds is your nose.
Your globby eyes find shade 'neath oxen hairs.
Like two thin frowning mustaches are your brows.
With microscopic mites your shiny skin
Glints, like a hanging fruit's with aphid flies
Flitting around about and out and in,
Or a hot, oil-glistened frenchèd fry's.
Like hard, mini marshmallows are your teeth.
Your lips, like jellied dextromethorphan.
Oh! oh! to be that rubber soul beneath
Those knobby tubers made for kicking a can!
But here again the painting is askew:
It lacks that certain something that's in you.
Yes, rubber soul.
Traditions lead to streets of dream
to scant abodes
beneath the green
'neath gardens tall
above them all
Their chimneys waft
of fire's stoke
the meek step forth
though bashful folk
The pitter pat
of little feet
of Little Street
They take my hand as pipers chant
descend the street
with river's dance
the dancers croon
to every home
I'm blessed ...
Tranquil glade amongst the heather
the moods in feather
Flames leap forth
as whispers twaddle
Tip 'em Back
yumm - titious
in my head
a fading glow
I was little once you know
my hiking cane
the child inside
St. Patricks Day is when
everything turns green...
Just look down the street,
and you'll see what I mean...
There's green in the windows
and green on the doors...
And people with green shirts
and green hair to adore...
People that celebrate
by drinking green beer...
And laughing and singing
for it's been a whole year...
It's the luck of the Irish
that's what I hear...
by ~ Judy
I wrote this a couple of years ago...took down the Valentine and up went the shamrock
— The End —