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What Shall I Say about the Irish

 
 
Never predictable,
Sometimes irascible,
Quite inexplicable Irish?

Strange blend of
Shyness, pride and conceit,
And stubborn refusal
To bow in defeat.

He's spoiling and ready to argue and fight,
Yet the smile of a child fills his soul with delight.
His eyes are the quickest to well up with tears,
Yet his strength is the strongest
To banish your fears.

He's wild and he's gentle,
He's good and he's bad,
He's proud and he's humble,
He's happy and he's sad.

He's in love with the ocean, the earth and the skies,
He's enamoured with beauty wherever it lies.
He's victor and victim, a star and a clod.
But mostly he's Irish . . .
In love with his God.

-Author Unknown




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