The Legerdemain Of Legend

The source of a legend is vital,
In determining if it is fact.
The Irishman’s art, is inclined to impart
Some embellishment where it is lacked.
Ogham, survived in the Emerald isle,
Where the Druids, were always book cooking.
What ere’ it may seem, it may be not so green
As much as it is, grassy looking.
Once, beyond the Pale, you will get a tale
For just any question you ask.
Making it fit, by talking auld’ shit,
Will prove to a rustic, no task.
So Bean Sidhe, and Boggart, will people the land,
For those that have ears to listen.
Keep buying the stout, and without a doubt
You’ll see ancient eyes start to glisten.
The fairies of glens, the dark wraiths of fens,
And cartloads of Leprechaun lore,
Will be yours if you are, back and forth to the bar.
Keep em’ coming, and you will get more!
You’ll hear how Druids, of evil design
Put terrible curses on cattle and swine.
The plots they were hatching with Divilish sctratching,
A smouldering demon in evr’y scrawled line.
A small price to pay, as you go on your way
With a head full of Blarney blessed mystery.
And who is to say they are lies, anyway?
Spinning yarns, can’t be messed up with history!