I'll tell you the tale of the man.....
who came into my dreams
His manner was stale
just like the ale
that he drank
and never stopped.....
But, his heart was good
even tho his bark
was roughter
than he was tough
He gave to me
the bravest part
with kisses, oh so sweet
''A Salty Dog'' if ever there was
and a Gypsie's Wild Heart Free
We cry when we laugh
and we laugh
when we cry
and that's, what the Irish do...........
The stories been told
that the air got so cold
even tho it was July
Down by the tree
where the fireworks danced
he ended, his own story
So the tale has been told
of the man who's gone cold
who came into my dreams....
His bark was rough
and his skin was tough
and on occasion
he'd dance like
a Queen.
We laughed
when we cried
and we cried
when we laughed
and that's what
the Irish do.........
We laughed
till we cried
and we cried
till we laughed
and I wish,
the same for You.
Copyright ©2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem