Yes, yes, we all know about the Guinness
Black, milky goodness pouring endlessly out of beer taps
To eager, thirsty punters waiting anxiously for that extended
pour to be over
We know about the leprechauns and four
leaf clovers
Of Blarney Stones and redheads
And enough boiled dinners of corned beef and cabbage to
end a thousand potato famines
We know it may get rowdy
Indeed it usually does
For there amid the parades, the drinks and the sea of green
a few punches may be thrown
Perhaps we should know about the man of
the day a little better
That Saint from Kilpatrick
And be able to speak of ‘The Confessio’ and ‘Epistola
ad Coroticum’
But I can’t claim to be that expert
No, not by a stretch
So I’ll leave such updates for others
 Suffice to say, here in Boston last night
Familiarity with the old customs, habits and vagaries mattered
not
The Celtic spirit was alive and well
We drank, we laughed, and then we drank
some more
I’m sure we’ve done that all before
But dear St. Pat –whoever he may be- does seem to
stir our spirits just that little more
Ezy Reading is out every Monday. |
