Ay, and begorrah,
I’ll tell ye a stora
Of magic wee people who play
Tricks on the humans—
And some leave ‘em fumin’,
And some, grant their wishes …halfway!
One day, a young fella
Did holla and bella
Because they had turned his beer green
His friends laughed and told him,
“Ah, Sean, don’t ye scold them,
They left ya a name; it’s Irene.”
“A name? Irene who?
What am I s’posed to do?
Maybe grab her last name from thin air?
They said, “Ye can try it,
And we’ll not deny it
Is possible, so, do ye dare?”
Then, Sean said, “I think
That I’m right on the brink
Of adventure, now it would be grand
If it turns out, Irene
Is a real beauty queen,
Maybe I’ll ask her da for her hand!”
His friends laughed out loud,
Boyo, ye’er in a cloud,
She could just be a joke played on you.”
Well, that stopped Sean, cold,
And he felt … not so bold,
He said, “Righto, then, what should I do?
They said, “close yer eyes;
Ye’re in for a surprise,
Now, sit yerself down, on this wall.
Sean sat himself down;
And there wasn’t a sound
Until his friends started to call,
They said, “Come, Irene!
Come on, girl, sweet Irene!”
And with that, both Sean’s eyes opened wide
And a setter, most grand
Came and nuzzled his hand,
And remained, happily, by his side.
~~~
Sometimes the wee folk
Can’t resist a wee joke,
They answered this young person’s call;
The lad, sad and grumpy,
Longed for female comp’ny,
Well, Irene’s female, after all!
