Proud To Be Irish

Colour me perfect in green white and gold, A tricolour heart from the young to the old, A land of giants from the causeway to swift, A tongue silver sharp each Irishman's gift, Born with a rainbow in each penciled heart, Wilde, joyce, and Shaw all creators of art, Samuel Becketts Godot and WB Yeates, Fountains of words, the world still relates. Words flow like water as blood flows like wine, The last rose of summer it's rich soul divine. Pygmalion a masterpiece by George Bernard Shaw, Where tales of silk woven for a century or more. Bram Stoker a name goes straight to the heart, From the ruins of Whitby each stake plays a part, And Saint Oliver Plunkett his limbs torn apart. At Tyburn was Martyred by a king with no heart. From the lakes of Killarney to the Rose of Tralee, To the mountains of Mourne flowing down to the sea, Theirs always a welcome Uische Beathe galore, The craic and the ceilidh and legendary folklore. A nation of people, resilient rich and strong, Together united, hearts dreaming as one, The voice of our Anthem singing , A Soldiers Song .