Maiden Of Spring Green, green, her Irish eyes are green, And they dance like the buds of spring. Carrot red hair on this colleen, Tell us genes are everything. Her mother was a forest elf, Her dear Da was a leprechaun. Their traits were instilled in herself, From that late March day she was born. For gardening advice, folks turn To her. Their problems she will solve. The lore of springtime they all learn, As they watch her potions dissolve. A dash of this, a chunk of that, Mixed with water from a brook, All aboil in a copper vat, While village folks watch the batch cook. Guaranteed to make flowers grow, Even potatoes in the field. Her powers all have come to know, Seeing results her potions yield. In the village, there’s even talk That she assisted Jack one day, Fertilizing that green bean stalk. Of course, that’s probably hearsay. The Maiden of Spring, she is called, And quite appropriately, too. She holds the villagers enthralled, As, all about her, green things grew. ~ © RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net) ~ March 2004 BACK If you enjoyed this page, check these out: When The Angels Laughed An Irish Tale Home: Writers' Winter 2004 Index Click the image and visit my business website. http://graphicsbymarilyn.com/