Leprechaun In My Bottle

One dark dreary night while happily drinkin’ up a big big storm, I beheld a tiny green man in my bottle, oh!—not the norm. He’s my tiny green man in my Irish whiskey bottle. He’s my Leprechaun with whom I’d like to drink a pottle. He’s the man with a certain quaint eye twinkle and attitude, And he has all the fine alcoholic credentials and certitude, Of one who’s done much, seen much, drunk much much, And has great insight, insatiable charm, and a very deft touch. My friend the Leprechaun tells me of his present living situation: “Medrinks, Methinks, Mesleeps, Medrinks, ah!—My salvation!” I tell him my ancestry is “Half-Irish” which makes me Celtic, And he says, “Me good friend Gary, no shame, Me too Celtic!” My Leprechaun asked me of my present situation with poetry, And I says—“Medrinks, Methinks, Mewrites, Meloves poetry.” Over time I found I was mimicking more and more my little elf friend, And he says, “Me brother Gary, no worry, we both be Irish my friend.” I told my Leprechaun that he does indeed have quite an alcoholic ego, And my little elf quipped, “When we both drink Gary, I’m your alter ego!” And so, my Leprechaun in my bottle is my good friend—my adviser, And, I find that as we both drink together my poetry flows all the wiser. Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (September 9, 2014) (Rhymed Couplet)