In filmy eve these words I scratch,
With a warm whisky over neat;
While the rain falls upon the thatch,
And the fire glows from the peat.
These words of mine to plot and twist,
Within this cottage hewn of stone;
While fairies dance in the Irish mist,
And poetry o’er the breeze is blown.
Oh, enchanted isle of emerald green
Surrounded by the bearded sea,
With words and whiskey in between
Your poetry is calling me.
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