Irish Coast

Think of the old country,

of shamrocks and beer.

Leprecons, luck, and myths,

and warriors with no fear.

But now I want to tell a story,

of an Irish place you may not know.

A place where everyday,

you can see nature's greatest show.

The coast, the coast,

the joyous Irish sons cried.

But for a broken hearted soldier,

everything everywhere had died.

He had not smiled,

when they took the English moors.

And not a glint of happiness,

did he feel now for his home shores.

For he had left her,

to fight England in war.

He could hear the bagpipes playing,

celebrating happy victories he bore.

But not the finest ale,

could drown out his pain.

For she said if he left her,

She'd never she him again. (Say it Irish, it'll rhym)

Four long and lonely years passed,

and no woman he ever vowed to love.

Whether she was demon of Earth,

or angel from the skies above.

He would love that one woman,

as long as his soul was still strong.

For his heart was like ice,

and only with her would he bond.

In his village he searched,

calling her beautiful name.

Her voice teased his mind,

but to him she never came.

He asked his family,

where she had gone.

Had she married another,

since he'd left for so long?

They told him, "nay,

she never left you.

She awaits your return,

in the church's first pew.

She prays to the Lord,

every eternal day and night.

She begs for you to come home,

and survive the bloody fight."

He ran to the Lord's house,

and saw her kneeling before the cross.

And as he saw his love again,

He knew he'd suffered no loss.

He swept her into his arms,

and carried her to the sea.

There on the Irish coast,

he was married to me.

This is probably my favorite poem of my own. I lie the twist. Well R/R.