i bury my hands in thick
tumults of dark ringlets
that fall soft about her
face as rich as cream

She’s an Irish lass

mischievous faeries
tug down on her lips
her eyes a potpourri
of mint and autumn

She’s an Irish lass

languorous of limb
romantic of mind
of priest and poet
seamus and yeats

She’s an Irish lass

with rosemary scent and
meadowsweet smile
she’s saddled tragic
across the heart

Oh my Irish lass