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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Ahhh the luck of the Irish complete with leprechauns and pots of gold The Emerald Isle God's country filled with lyrical voice but no one hears her cry that fabled luck truly a fable t'would seem suffering the only thing in abundance it is their only pot that remains filled an impoverished relative showing up late for dinner tossed a few scraps from the rich relatives but not allowed to sit at the table a history rich with servitude famine, plaque and indentured slavery spit upon by class distinctions laughed about as uneducated their brogue common ahhh yes the curse of the commoner in a society that rewards upper class and the deemed right of birth drunken happy go lucky louts that would steal your pants rather than wash his own and on and on the prejudice flows from old days into the new of drinking and gambling even in the movies portrayed as a rogue these perceptions followed fine people across the sea where they built the cities endured the hardships and still no one hears their cry no one gives them their due they did the jobs others were to afraid to do the hard labor standing on steel skyscrapers so many descendent's of this proud people have formed the foundations of other countries and still they do not control their own now the world frowns not understanding the religious battle that dwells within it's all they have their faith it makes perfect sense to me for yes the Irish would start a fight in a church for they are not afraid to stand up for their beliefs they are just hollow for so much has been taken from them so much suffering has been endured so they cling to their faith as a man clings to a life preserver for to lose that last vestige they will lose themselves ahhhh the luck of the Irish maybe they should pass that luck to another then maybe someone will hear their cries someday they may follow the rainbow and will truly find that pot of gold
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