Mick-O-Leen Oge - Poem by Annette Aitken
There once was a man named Mick-O-leen Oge
He roamed ore' mountains and valley's below
His bright coloured hat adorned with red feathers
The long coat he wore was made out of leather
The waxy green leaves provide him with pants
His fairy dust shoes allowed him to dance.
For once it was said when Mick-O-leen's about
Look out for him stagger, with his odd pint of stout
You may even hear the lint of his voice
Carried across the hill-tops at night
For Mick-O-leen Oge is said to be
A pixie, a leprechaun, a flying pig
An old Irish tale embellished in truths
Is that old Mick-o-leen playing his flute?
A lullaby played from days that's gone bye
Yet somehow this tune filled up the nights sky
Voices of angles languished around
A comforting feeling you get from the sound
He sits in the corner and gently smiles
Then slips away quickly before he is spied.
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