Happy St. Patrick’s Day! Not a particularly happy poem…but happy wearing of the green to you nonetheless!
Three hundred shamrock petals tossed
Are my yearly forget-me-nots,
Decaying mulch for the next batch.
The Land of Youth a curse for me
Not in it; for me, left behind
By who, I hope, forgets me not.
The water-walking horse made both
Of us immortal: him, alive;
And me, a grey shadow, forgotten.
So should I leave the world for void,
Or wait another hundred shamrocks
To, maybe, someday be remembered?
This poem is based on the Irish legend of Oisín, who went to Tír na nÓg (Lord of the Rings Undying Lands) with the faerie queene Niamh on her badass water-walking (take that Jesus) horse Embarr (think Gold Chocobos in Final Fantasy VII). Three years in Tír na nÓg was three hundred in Ireland, so when Oisín returned, everyone he knew was dead. This poem is for those people (and sorry for all the parentheses).
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