Will my search for the ever illusive Leprechaun this St Patrick's Day be in vain?
Where's the wee little man, is he hidden in green fields of clover that sparkle with drops of dew, any sound he makes not heard, drowned out by the pitter-patter of falling rain?
Will my search, this St. Patty's Day be successful I wish as I clutch tightly my four leaf clover?
Or will my sight be obscured and dazzled by the brilliance of Irish Green as the tiny fellow I seek but miss, overlook and blindly step over?
Will I find you with your pot of gold, illusive, tiny Leprechaun on this St. Patrick's Day or must I wait till next year, admitting failure, accepting it as yet another annual refrain?
Where's the wee little man, is he hidden in green fields of clover that sparkle with drops of dew, any sound he makes not heard, drowned out by the pitter-patter of falling rain?
Will my search, this St. Patty's Day be successful I wish as I clutch tightly my four leaf clover?
Or will my sight be obscured and dazzled by the brilliance of Irish Green as the tiny fellow I seek but miss, overlook and blindly step over?
Will I find you with your pot of gold, illusive, tiny Leprechaun on this St. Patrick's Day or must I wait till next year, admitting failure, accepting it as yet another annual refrain?
By Grandpa Ralph
The Illusive Leprechaun