My being Irish
is a gift I received from the tribe.
My Irish drinking
barely kept me alive.
My Irish temper
scares even me.
Then the “pot” of gold
that was given to me
Had me down on bended knee.
The snakes from Ireland
are often found in my head.
I cannot surrender…
I often dread.
Now the Sunlight of the Spirit raises its Voice.
When I do listen, I can rejoice.
“If I follow this way
I have nothing to fear’…
Now the message is getting more clear.
(’Twas the luck of the Irish that I found this path
‘Tis being recovering that I now can laugh.)
