From legends and myths,
from a long time ago.
I learned about faerie's,
as my mother told me so.
From within the Emerald Isle,
comes a tale of little men.
Who cobble their beautiful shoes,
and were alittle bigger than a wren.
Their wealth was a given,
with their giant pot of gold.
No one was admitted,
or brought into their fold.
With a love for the drink,
and a good Irish song.
To watch them so merry
you wished you'd belong.
Now here I am dreaming,
and ashamed of myself.
Wishing I was born,
as a good little elf.
A friend to the fae
as well as to men.
Leprechauns dancing
again and again.
The life of the party,
and a time of their own.
The fae and leps,
write their legends in stone.
And if ever you doubt,
that they're not still alive.
Then I pity your soul
and hope that you'll survive.
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