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.

Daniel Street