The utterly impractical, never predictable,
Sometimes irascible, quite inexplicable, Irish.
Strange blend of shyness, pride and conceit,
And stubborn refusal to bow in defeat.
She's spoiling and ready to argue and fight,
Yet the smile of a child fills her soul with delight.
Her eyes are the quickest to well up with tears,
Yet her strength is the strongest to banish your fears.
Her hate is as fierce as her devotion is grand,
And there is no middle ground on which she will stand.
She is wild and she's gentle, she's good and she's bad.
She is proud and she's humble, she's happy and sad.
She is in love with the ocean, the earth and the skies;
She is enamored with beauty wherever it lies.
She is victor and victim, a star who's not dead,
But mostly she's Irish - a special redhead.
She speaks, " Cead Mile Failte" to friend and to rover
It means you are always welcome -A thousand times over
Said with love and compassion, that's the Irish you see
Wherever you come from, whomsoever you be.
Happy Thanksgiving, "Cead Mile Failte". ;-)
Slan agat,
C
