Strike the colors of Ireland,
Raise that frothy mug of ale upwards
With respectful pride.
For my fighting Irish boys have arrived,
Born and bread beneath the symbol of
The American eagle.
Yet covered by the flag of the Emerald Isle.
Lord and Saint Patrick bless'em,
No prouder a woman ever lived,
Could be happier than this old me-maw,
Of these little men of mine.
Now for honesty's sake alone,
tis true these
Two are head strong and
Stubborn to boot.
But with grandma's magic shillelagh,
Just around the corner a calmness
Ensues mighty quickly.
Until I leave the room at least
Fighting and scraping from dawn,
Their turning this poor old elderly,
Woman prematurely gray,
To be sure enough,
But yet I love them none the less.
Even with the ware and tear these
Wee scoundrels put me through.
Yet there is one time of day,
When a glimmer of hope shines,
Lighting up this me-maw's heart.
As they kneel beside their beds
When these battle scared survivors
Put away there weapons,
Crossing them instead to pray.
Saying the lord's prayer.
They both smile and look up at me,
And sweetly kiss me good-night.
Lord and Saint Patrick bless'em until
The morning fight,
Whoops I meant to say light.
Good night to all,
Especially my little men.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN