The Irish lass
With auburn hair
And flowing gown of white
Did stand upon the misty knoll
One dark and haunting night.
“Alas” said she
With heart forlorn
“Oh, where art thou, my love?”
For promised he they’d meet that night
Beneath the moon above.
As hours did pass
The wind grew cold
The weeping willows swayed
The Irish lass with auburn hair
Felt not she’d been betrayed
And faith held out her love would come
Their rendezvous belated
And vow she did to ne’er depart
In humble splendor waited.
The days, the months, the years have waned
And through the dust of time
The Irish lass with auburn hair
And flowing gown of white
Can still be seen upon the knoll
Her fading shadow glistening
Still waiting, she, in lasting hope,
Will sigh to all who’s listening.
“Alas," she cries, in haunting tone
“Can that be you, my dear?”
“Come closer, closer,
reach for me...
“I’m still waiting for you here!”
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