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Auburn tressed, ( though I'm no Shannon or Colleen) circumstances have made my home the desert... arid, though never barren I have learned of its bounty... Still,
Way back in the old days of Limerick, The town's mayor was not quite so synergic, So the people decided, That they wanted to be provided, With a foundation made of some newer brick.  
The hounds of Ulster Were set loose once again Upon each other;
My forebears ran through hills of green, Their children gathered humble blooms And carried them in bunches home, They swam through white-and-turquoise seas, Had no man taught me otherwise,
Dearest Wading Girl, I peer at you through my canvas window Watching as you dip your toes into the waters off the sharp Irish coast. You wade through the yearnings of your kin Reaching sun-dried dreams and
A variety of meaning green could bring Objects, emotions, coloring From the rolling green in Ireland hills To bright stop lights, and dollar bills
Beauty Beams Of Rolling hills I only dream of such thrills; The breathtaking unseen White Rocky Cliffs Seafoam churns Beyond all gifts A smile returns to: the infinite green
On and on, the music flows,Through the fields of the Village Green.   On and on the music goes,The Irish sing and dance it home.   On and on the music flows,Down the valley to the village below.
we fall in love in those in-between moments, like when the sun is buried right at the brink of that fine line and if you want to know the truth,the boy i sit next to in physics drew the horizon.
A lady at the store once called me A Great American Beacuse I gave her an extra discount Patriotism
With the power to change, I would change power. The people have to struggle while our leaders just cower.  Few enjoy all the blessings of wealth,
I can't tell the difference between my dreams and reality anymore  Everyday I wake up and yet I'm never really here  I find myself living within the parallels of a world that loved me unconditionally 
Have you ever had apple pie? If not I suggest you give it a try.
  1852. Where am I? What is this strange land that we happened upon? I clutched my mother’s hand tightly, Nearly doubling over, At the stench of a strong sense of nationalism, And pride,
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