Calvin Ross
Ballad of the Clover Fields
Throughout the homeland glen,
Scots-Irish kin
recite Ave Maria,
read the bonny Good Book,
hunt like Orion,
sing in a brogue all their own
while the Wee People dance
the Treble Jig.
In the starlight of the Seven Sisters,
we can frolic barefoot
in warm summer meadows
with lassies who flirt
with pursed lips
and swishing skirts.
Oh, Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes
are calling
From glen to glen, and down the
mountain side.
Smoke from my briar wood pipe
wafts from Tennessee shires
to the Irish Sea.
Canis Major breaks
into a Milky Way grin
when he sees my border collie Obi
crouch tail end up in a DNA haunch
for whatever needs to be herded—
including any parading leprechauns
playing penny whistle wooden flutes.
The summer’s gone, and all the roses
falling,
It’s you, it’s you must go and I must
bide.
A proud shamrock struts its green
while woodland fairies hover—
their wings in precise flutter.
One cherub touches the shamrock
with her magic wand
lit by a bit of starlight.
POOF! Three leaves become four.
But come ye back when summer’s
in the meadow,
Or when the valley’s hushed and white
with snow,
It’s I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow,
Oh, Danny boy, Oh Danny boy,
I love you so!
May verdure good luck
hide you from Old Scratch,
who’s fast on your footsteps
for you to lose your balance and slip.
Three fingers, Barkeep!
Another round for all blokes
and a toast:
To a high steppin’ bawdy good time,
to your life and mine in bloody rhyme.
