Top of the morning to ya! HAPPY ST. PATTY'S DAY, EVERYONE!!!
AN IRISH TALE
Deep in the center of an enchanted glen,
...There lives Nody Eltrahy, a silly, old tale spinner.
A strange little leprechaun, not of the folk of men,
Sporting an easy smile, in his eyes the trace of a glimmer.
For ages he served as Bard to the High King.
Can't even imagine all the old soul has seen.
Ageless memories are his story's source,
Woven like a web without time's shortened course.
He comes when he wants to his favorite place
Under Old Burlybark, the willow, a dark and shady space,
Beside the Babble Brook meandering through the magical wood,
Its silvery water cool, sweet and surely good,
To his sitting stump, all shiny and worn,
The place where his tales seem to be born.
The words of his weaving encircling his head,
Bring to those who listen either smiles or dread.
Smiles to some hearts, which his light tales please,
Dread to others, their unbelief he'll tease.
To his teaching and care come the young fairies and elves,
Into their imagination he digs and he delves
Their minds to expand, to see things wee and grand,
To hear the forest's sounds as a musical band.
Now look real close and listen, listen hard.
The longer you do, the more you'll receive.
Filling your own memories, you will relieve
Life to come from the tales of this wise old Bard.
But if with hardened heart and closed mind you hear,
You'll miss on the smiles to carry you year to year.
With unbelief and no vision you'll fail,
And his words become just another Irish Tale.
...There lives Nody Eltrahy, a silly, old tale spinner.
A strange little leprechaun, not of the folk of men,
Sporting an easy smile, in his eyes the trace of a glimmer.
For ages he served as Bard to the High King.
Can't even imagine all the old soul has seen.
Ageless memories are his story's source,
Woven like a web without time's shortened course.
He comes when he wants to his favorite place
Under Old Burlybark, the willow, a dark and shady space,
Beside the Babble Brook meandering through the magical wood,
Its silvery water cool, sweet and surely good,
To his sitting stump, all shiny and worn,
The place where his tales seem to be born.
The words of his weaving encircling his head,
Bring to those who listen either smiles or dread.
Smiles to some hearts, which his light tales please,
Dread to others, their unbelief he'll tease.
To his teaching and care come the young fairies and elves,
Into their imagination he digs and he delves
Their minds to expand, to see things wee and grand,
To hear the forest's sounds as a musical band.
Now look real close and listen, listen hard.
The longer you do, the more you'll receive.
Filling your own memories, you will relieve
Life to come from the tales of this wise old Bard.
But if with hardened heart and closed mind you hear,
You'll miss on the smiles to carry you year to year.
With unbelief and no vision you'll fail,
And his words become just another Irish Tale.
2 comments:
Thanks for this lovely St Patty's Day poem. I have your site on my sidebar. When I saw "enchanted glen" from the snippet, I had to come over. Happy St Patty's Day.
I search this poem in spanish, but I never found it =(
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