Irish Ballad.

To whom my plea calls out…
I write to you.
My fair love…
In hopes you shall see.
Perceive…
Feel the depth of me love.
See it there,
The glow and flicker…
The spark igniting in ye heart.
Ignore it not.
Push aside ye doubts.
See it there…
In the warmth of me stare.
A trust so sincere,
Honesty bears…
Genuine care.
Darling dear…
I’m a begging ye, please
Don’t ye dare, shy away from me.
Tis be true…
Be it only you.
Open ye eyes…
For ye heart wanders of blind.
Hold me now.
For mine arms shall surround.
Choirs harmonize in time…
Like the hummingbird’s song.
Hear it now,
The beating of me heart.
Oh how ye flutter about.
While thoughts bout and bounce.
Ye falling in love.
That girl’s on ye mind.
Day and night.
Ye dreams see to speak.
Deny it not.
Here or there.
Mindful or unaware,
Ye looking for her…
Checking ye cell.
Forestalling her call…
Around corner’s reach,
Swear it be,
A voice so distinct and pronounced.
For near or far…
Her fragrance farriers across.
Ore lands and plains.
Mountains and tops.
Ye head spins round.
A taunt and a tease.
Come find me, so it seems.
A hound dog’s trail….
Meant for those.
Whom know of which to seek.
A scent so sweet,
Stigmatized is ye…
For her aromatic presence,
Now lines ye memory.
Foreboding amnesia.
Like trinkets for safe keep.
Comfort is as its serenity…
For tranquility lusts its amity.
Search and seek.
Until ye reach.
By her side,
Words fail to arrive.
Gaze into mine eyes.
A shadowy dark ye shall find.
For calamity speaks of tragedy.
Ill will tainted and painted
With hues meant to subdue.
For there’s a past and a history.
Of toils and snares.
Swing low, my sweet honey dear.
Regard me, me love…
See it there…
A soul, raw and bare….
a tenderness so dear.
Fear it not,
For ye know tis true.
So similar ye are to her.
Disregard t’all irrelevance...
Ignorance tis bliss.
Stand oh mighty proud
Before ye…
Humbly I do…
My love,
My darling dear.
Take me hand…
For me heart is true.
In earnest sincerity.
Hear me now,
For I proclaim…
True love’s abiding vows.
Though plagued with poverty’s cowardice.
I come with empty pockets.
I have nothing to give.
Yet, everything to lose.
A poor working class lass.
Writing poems and ballads...
All I have…
Are promises of love…
And a forever happiness.
Take me hand.
For we shall write our own path.
until the end of time.
Tis you and I.