Green is the shade of my true loves hair
Blown by the oceans breath still fragrant in the air
Her skin is of the Irish moss so delicate and fair
With eyes encased by age old rings
The temples of the ancient kings shared by her kin so rare
The runes tell of her wisdom, her cunning held in lore
Not day go by I hear her cry echoed from the sandy shore
Ebbing from her tender hands in waves to touch the moon
So soon to rest between her breasts deep in the valley floor
Come dance beneath the cypress
Weave our web beside the spring
Ride the ripples of the brook to feast with Elven kings
Drink this wine of vintage year sweet melodies to sing
Upon the throne of hearth and home
In freedoms calling soon to roam the cresting waves to bring
The cry of loves shrill echoes on frond of fern still lingers
In glowing mirth enchanted worth spun glistening by her fingers
Drifting through the mystic mists in medleys never known
Now shown in trance forgotten chants to greet the waken ringers