My Irish King

Click here to listen to "My Irish King" Pink lipstick to a lace glove.
Gone in the wind to Dublin.
Hopeful to touch the lips of my love.
The man of my dreams the king of Tara.
Miles of stone fences hold my love in.
Shall the Swans in the ice blue lake free him.
Beautiful green velvet meadows of hungry loved souls
forever green.
Grey castles of shallow holes never to be whole.
Sweet Grey hounds running in the wind to be free.
When the trumpet sounds and the fox runs who then
will be free.
I shall wait for my lace glove to return with my king.

by Jane Halbrook

Other poems of JANE HALBROOK (3)

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