The Good Lord Is Irish
Twas in a wee little kirk
Nestled deep in the heather
Where leprechauns lurk
mid fog and brash weather
Where wee Father Flanagan stood
Attired in black coat and white collar
Aponderin’ evil and good
E’ twas Five foot two and na’ taller
Aponderin’ the warld’
and to how it might end
And how things might unfarl
When tis gone round the bend
“Oh dear Lard, how twillit be when we go?
Twill all be gone, or will yet some linger? ”
To which the Lard replied in voice soft and low
“suure and I’ll show ye my son, just pull my finger.
poem by David Whalen
Added by Poetry Lover
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