a poem by Nancy Ellen Crossland, USA

There is a magic in Ireland
Thoughts of days of old,
Of faeries and leprechauns
And brimming pots of gold

A silvery mist spreads across the hills
Giving the green verdant valleys
A dream-like thrill

The air is crisp
Filling each with such exhilaration
Some even see the image of St Patrick
With reverence and elation

It is told of coins jingling
By mischievous little men
Myth or fact;
No one really cares
It is a scene played
Over and over again

Yes, the magic in Ireland
Its people proud and strong
Who embrace the hills of their forefathers
With devotion and a hearty song

It spreads across the land
From sea to shining sea,
For it seems there is a bit of Ireland in all,
I would certainly agree!

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