The Blarney Stone
The Blarney Stone
It was a bucket list I had to fill
I puckered up and felt the chill
The stone was cold upon my lips
The ledge was hard beneath my hips
Within my head a bell had rung
And words were forming on my tongue
Stories for the young and old
Simply waiting to be told
A scrap of paper and a pen
I jot a line down now and then
In hopes someday someone will read
The gift of gab? A gift indeed
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