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A St. Patrick’s Day Holiday Poem
Our hero is Irish and he carries a fiddle…
“Top of the morning!” he says with a smile
While walking down main street alone single file
The brim of his green hat has a crease down the middle
Strapped to his shoulder he carries his fiddle
He’s short, a bit plump, though he doesn’t seem fat
A jolly old soul with a step like a cat
You’d think him a plain old sort of a man
With rosy round cheeks more red than tan
I’ve seen him before by the corner drugstore
Playing his fiddle you can’t help but adore
His hat always tilted it gives him a flair
Like a star in the theater so debonair
I watched and listened to the songs he did sing
’Twas St. Patrick’s Day celebration he wanted to bring
To all that would listen and smile ear to ear
As he sang old Irish songs loud and clear
So raise your favorite pint my friends if you please!
To toast our dear friend who wears tassels on his sleeve
For so many years he has joined us together
No matter the weather
That is often a bit cold
He brings out the joy and that true hardy laughter
That gift that the Irish have shared since man’s dawn
Let’s not forget him this fiddler this man
Who stands up to those who always demand
St. Patrick’s our Saint let no one disagree
As we give thanks and God’s blessings to our many friends
and those who hang closely on our family tree.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #145)
