'Tis a fright the man becomes,
His face fair drops; his smile goes,
'Tis a man who's sunk down in the dumps,
A man befraught with ter-rible woes.

 

The saddest thing I've ever seen,
Is an Irishman de-twinkled,
If his Irish eyes can't smile and gleam,
Then he might as well be pickled.

 

The man's spirit is be-dimmed,
Something's missing in his life,
'Tis not a pint of Irish gin,
Nor a plump and jolly wife.

 

A man whose name is Hannigan,
Or Pat, or Tim, or Mike,
Can get his twinkle back again,
With a good, old Irish fight.

 

A loosened tooth, a bloody nose,
Are signs that life is good,
'Tis a happy man one now beholds,
In the Irish brotherhood.

 

The smile's back in his Irish eyes,
And the dimple's back in his grin,
And his split-lip fair testifies,
To the punch he took on his chin.

 

So the Irish on Saint Paddy's Day,
Oft hold festive Irish brawls,
And if they carry a man away,
Then a grand time was had by all!

 

Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright March 2002