Oh, the dark Irish
we favor thee
for kinship is
a privilege
to harbor me

Whispers in the air
are beckoning me
to come more near
and another brown cow
does disappear

But tomorrow thatched
roofs will burn-Share
the sorrow all concerned
you cannot take
what's fairly earned

Take she to wife
your children planned
grow your gardens
and guard your lands

Beltaine approaches
don't hesitate
to gather the clans
to celebrate

Pull up the benches
to the warmth of the fire
excitement is brewing
and the Mead makes
them higher

The Bard tells his stories
with excitement and fevor
The children of Ire
will always remember

We came from the north
and below the sea
Ireland became home
to the gods and we

are