Green are the hues of the Irish Sea,
Wrapped by the grasses of the Emerald Isle;
Fields strewn with heather where you came to me
With eyes of jade and a charming smile.
The moorland grasses where we ran and played,
Washed by the briny scent of ocean breeze
That wafts through the moor like a serenade;
The days encore of a sweet reprise.
As verdant hills softly roll away
And seem to disappear in a distant bog,
I think of you and those far gone days
And reach for your shadow etched in the fog.
Your breath is the breeze that sweeps o're the green
And floats through the memories that I dream.
March 11, 2013
For Francine's Green Contest