Fallen leaves clustered together, like corner boys,

ready to cause mischief in swirling eddies,

chasing each other in never ending circles, by gusting winds

ignoring onlookers in their Mistral ecstasy.

Autumnal frolics will soon cease, before prevailing snows and ice,

A final Hooley before they tire in Compost mire,

or blown out to the seas, denying a rebirth, a Deciduous Tree.

another Season ends with glee, lively, dead leaves sleep till Spring,

budding to bloom, start all over again, anew.

            
                  By Holly Barrett

There was a young man called Norman Bates,

who ran a Motel in the States,

A swamp at the rear, gave Norman some cheer,

Himself and his Mother never looked back.

I joined M16, in 1915 ,
I heard they were looking for a Spy,
I didn't get far, got sacked at the bar,
when I clocked up a bill,
and charged it to ' Golden Eye '.

There was a young man from Macroom,

Who thought he could fly on a Broom,

He left in the  night, with a scream of delight,

Now he is in a Hospital room.

Oh, to be in Knocknagree, where the beer is cheap,

and the women are free.

You can travel all over Ireland,

but seldom will you see,

The Lakes  and Castles, round Knocknagree.


Wild Mountain Hares, traipse through the street,

on their way to the Hanging Babylon Gardens,

Where a tress of hair, from a Princess,

the locals in secrete keep.


Darby O' Gill and the little people,

built Tigeens (Houses ) near the ' Rainbow's Wishing Stream ',

But the County Council put property tax on them,

and put a full stop , to their little Dreams.


  By Holly Barrett

There was a young Pole from Gdansk,

who went to Ireland, looking for romance,

What he found on arrival. the girls were all tribal,

and fought for , what was inside his Pants.


Holly Barrett