Irish Cycle
I often saw a shamrock
in the green beneath her eye
although she wasn't lucky
when my whiskey made her cry.
She chased me through the springtime
and I held her love so bold
we drank the autumn colors
so the bards have all been told.
The Beltane fires would cast her
shadow up to kiss the sky
with the oak and holly's laughter
where the God's and love won't die.
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