Oh Eileen, red haired angel of Irish fire,
Floating angel she is, ‘most of the time’
That is, but she is, a we bit of fresh Irish air,
Special flagrance from inside her heart.
Independent some say, definitely spirited,
Upon the green meadows of sunshine’s days,
Glowing like a wild flower dancing free,
Springing in her own unique Gaelic voice.
Now she may be more American than Irish.
Look into her eyes and see that lovely Irish.
It makes any American, in fact anyone else,
Smile from her tenderness of spirited being.
Oh Eileen lass, awake your poetic wings.
Spread your mind upon its rainbow warmth.
Warming your glow upon the breezing green.
Leave a treasure upon everyone you meet.
D.Lester 1/29 to 02/03/06 ©
Terminated poet, somewhere in America not on company time.
davelyoung1.hotmail.com poem for the ride upon America’s spirit