Eire
Within the land of clover
O’er the fields of green
Wanders, a bagpipe player
Just blending to the scene
He breathes the air of the hills
Into the plaid bagpipe sack
That keeps me as a visitor
Always coming back
The land and all its legend
The Castles on the hills
The Rose of Shannon’s aroma
It does all give me fill
But yet my mind there wanders
As my feet push on to see
The lovely Emerald Isle
That patchwork of the green
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