St. Patrick's Day
We walk amid fields of emerald cheer,
A hail to the loss of Serpentine fear.
We honour a memory, but the past is smeared,
By a miniature old man, so long of beard.
For ages he has hidden, hoarding his treasure,
A creature of avarice beyond all measure.
After his gold, many a hunter have sought,
But he, no fool, is eternally uncaught.
He sits behind no door or lock,
But behind a small, four-clovered Shamrock.
We shall never find him, for lost is the flower,
The charm from which comes untold power.
But control it he cannot, for a small man is he,
Cowering and bereft of gallantry.
So fear him not, shout out "Hooray!"
For on the morn we celebrate St. Patrick's Day.