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