Full Moon Céilidh

Poem By Brad Evans

When the mid-winter moon is a full, ripe peach
When a gentle breeze blows through the trees
An old man wanders down a dead, country lane
Past a turnpike - left broke by the centuries

He looks for those he no longer knows -
His memories left in tatters by the years.
There's a barn down a dead, country lane
Where strings can be heard 'midst the cheers...

Take me! Take me! Take me!
To the full moon céilidh
Where the farmers light their fires
On the fields of seasons' gone.

Where the ladies can't stop laughing
And the men just can't stop grinning
Where dancing can be heard 'til the dawn...

There's a broke turnpike left alone by the centuries
Where a motorist drives past without knowing
There's a barn that once stood down a dead, country lane
With a lonely old man now dancing...

So, take me! Take me! Take me!
To the full moon céilidh
Where the farmers light their fires
On the fields of seasons' past.

Where the ladies can't stop laughing
And the men just can't stop grinning
While the drunken poets roar away the night!

An old man wanders up a dead, country lane
Past a turnpike - left broke by the centuries
He looks for those he no longer knows -
His memories left in tatters by the years...

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I tell a work colleague near me: