Lying on my back on the grassy bank of a gurgling brook
My eyes gaze out at the clouds that float overhead
Setting my mind free to float on the current of a gentle breeze.
My fingers idly play with clover blossoms that abound
In wide swept abandon over the hills and dells.
Little scenes drift through my wondering mind
Drawing me into a fantasy realm
Of princesses on white horses, fairy lords, & clan chieftains
Bedecked in tartans of red and gold.
A time where rosy-cheeked maidens tended to flocks of woolly sheep
And children scampered through shamrock-carpeted glens
In search of the end of the rainbow
Harboring the wee Leprechaun's gold.
A land of yore carved out of centuries of woe
Brandished with courage as the tales unfold
Encouraged by a wee spot of ale on a cold Ireland morn.