In days of old, in Ireland so I'm told by a sainted old Grandmother. These little people did roam, through the woods and over the hills when the island slept. They would visit our homes while we would sleep in our downy beds. They would walk through the dim lit halls and through doors that were locked at will.

Out on the hills when the moon was full, a dance they would give for all immortal souls. You could be sure the Leprechaun King would be there and all his men and ladies fair. The fairies would soon join in with their King and Queen, and immortal and mortal folk. The Leprechaun King was a lord of wisdom and quick to jest. An old old man and yet so very young, that leaned apon a thorny staff. They would Dance and sing until the light of dawn, and in a wink of an eye, they would all be gone.

Five thousand years ago today, in Ireland his legend began. Now it's up to the mortal man, to how long he will sleep. To awaken once again with a legend yet not told. So I will keep his memory alive in the hearts of man, because he never wants to grow old.

Written by Elaine(Lepage)Boucher
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