The Emerald Isle

Story: Poem about Ireland
It's just something about Ireland. Someone once
asked me to explain about where I am from

Poet: © Marie Tully

Full of mystical folklore banshee's and fairies
Endless searching for clover while leprechaun's hide
under ground
Mist in the air shadowy dance
Bracken are the hillside's with bluebell's and
romance
A thorn between county's once driven apart
Gaelic football and hurling playing under a golden
harp
Known for there talk fighting and drink
It's people have big heart's and smile's with a nod
and a wink
It's most famous city with it's cobbled stone street's
Walked author's and poets
As musicians played in the street's
Although the tenement building's no longer stand
The bacon and cabbage is still in demand
A pot of caudill was known as the poor man's broth
The pawn shop by the Liffee bore everyone's cross
The rag and bone man no longer calls
No more horses and cart's everyone now has car's
Steeped in tradition it's mythers so brave
This country so green
The emerald isle

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