Irish Harps Poem by Mark Heathcote

Irish harps cast a spell when played well
It could be that those players are pretty,
And they put me under some, kind of spell
Secretly my heart wants to accompany,
Drum to every string, and hope one look
From me and they'll lose their heart, their key
Oh, Irish-Rose you keep me on tenterhooks
Oh, Irish harps cast a spell on me.
The hand that plucks this chord must grasp the flame
And touch the burning that can't be, doused
And not even a good strong stout can drain
The way she picks those strings out of my heart
Irish harps cast a spell when played well
Oh, Emerald Isle, you're the star of my heart
Oh, look at me now dumbstruck open-mouthed
It could be desire comes to me unannounced.