Good morning, all. It’s St. Patrick’s Day. I hope and pray you are healthy, happy, and well, wearing various shades of green.
Some time ago, I wrote a short poem about a leprechaun. I thought it appropriate to let free that rascal a second time.
Please, let me know how you’re weathering COVID-19. Let’s here you stories.
Just a moment, I say.
Tis all I needed to spy
the little ruffian. His hair
as red as flame and his eyes
even redder. There he was, skippin’
through me vegetable garden
with carrot stems hangin’
from his pockets and a potato
in his arms, gigglin’ and snickerin’
sure as I did when I swiped
cookies coolin’ on mother’s
bakin’ racks when I was but
a wee one. Now, this green
snitch was filchin’
my veggies so I calls out
the window I see you, you
thievin’ Irish weasel. If you’re
gonna pinch me garden
at least share a pint with me.
That stopped him. So, I poured
him a cold stout with a head
as thick as cream pie.
Before time could twirl its tail,
he gulped a pint or three more
and started trippin’ and twiirlin’
and spillin’ words he never meant
to spill. Now, the short of it is this.
I let the devil keep my garden,
my ale, and my home ’cause
while he was sleepin’
a drunkard’s sleep,
I swiped the arse’s pot of gold.