Hats Off to the Irish!

The seventeenth of March is nigh and those who celebrate,
Have Ireland running through their veins -- or wish they shared that fate.
With "little people" everywhere who form the "fairy ring"
To work and play and bring good luck to those who hear them sing.

Amidst the toadstools, shamrocks, too -- wherever your quick glance --
'Tis just the Irish people know where they will sing and dance.
"Saint Patrick Land"; the "Emerald Isle"; surrounded by the sea --
The "blarney stone" that people kiss -- the legends Mom told me.

This is a riddle we admit -- how come we never knew,
Until Joan's fam'ly-tree research, that Mom was Irish? -- True!
Dad called her his "wild Irish Rose" -- her name was "Rose" you see --
He thought "a bit of Heaven" sent for him, Joan, Bruce and me.
Could she but read Joan's long 'begats', how happy she would be --
For surely Mom would love to know her Irish legacy?

--Doreen (Adams) Ellis

(copyright)
 


The "Little Folk"

The seventeenth of Ireland will bring the Irish out
To celebrate St. Patrick's Day with lots to shout about.
All those who have the Irish blood a-running in their veins
Relate the tales of "little folk" and point out their domains --
Tell of the help they give to folks who have no wealth at all --
Then, treat them with what they need most when they pay them a call.

Their smiles can work like magic to cheer an Irish man;
For he believes with all his might the "little people" can!
'Tis like an affirmation -- there's help for everyone --
If he believes 'tis there for him, he knows what can be done!
Though small, they work together according to a plan;
'Tis for this reason -- he finds out -- the "little people" can!

He feels if they can do things well -- complete what they began --
'Tis only right he follow through if "little people" can!
'Tis good the Irish parents tell their children of the "clan";
It just reminds them -- they can, too -- if "little people' can!

--Doreen (Adams) Ellis

(copyright)

 

 

IRELAND'S SAINT PATRICK

Saint Patrick was not Irish, but English-born, you see,
West coast estate -- 'twas in the year 385 A.D.
Taken in the Irish raids a boy of age sixteen,
The next six years he was a slave attending sheep serene.

He escaped from Ireland -- entered a monast'ry;
A missionary he became to help the Irish free
Their beliefs from pagan ways; a bishop he became
And took the place of one who died -- in Ireland to remain.

The Druids cast their spells on him and threatened with his life,
He taught them to combine their ways to end much of the strife.
As Druids learned to trust him, he taught the Christian way;
Then Ireland claimed him as their own and to their Saint did pray.

--Doreen (Adams) Ellis

(copyright)

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