I sit beneath weeping willow
that sweep the grass with tears of rain
Rolling hills and misty meadows
Embrace the fields of wheat and grain
Emerald land of Celtic splendor
Where Irish myth runs true and free
Where love seeks its sweet surrender
With names carved on the Rowan tree
With hosts of golden Daffodil’s
That grow in bliss of solitude
Neath rambling clouds and gentle hills
To fragrant wind in magnitude
In pubs where fiddlers love to play
To share the joy that laughter brings
With gathered friends to drink the day
And string the harp of angel wings.
Wind shimmers in the fields of corn
With nurtured heart beats from sweet earth
That feed the lamb when it is born
Then, share its leaves to warm their birth.
Like needle work her land outspread.
A beauty seen beyond compare.
Weave tapestry with velvet thread
That blends with chant of morning prayer
Memories of cradled sights I’ve seen.
With wisdom’s voice and stories told.
Lie wrapped in hills of Emerald Green
Will haunt me til my days of old.