In the heart of March, when clovers dance,
A girl with eyes like emerald leaves,
She walks the meadows, a sweet romance,
A sprite of spring, where magic weaves.
Her hair, a cascade of sun-kissed gold,
Tumbles down like a waterfall's song,
And in her laughter, legends unfold,
A melody that's been echoing long.
Her skin, a canvas kissed by dew,
Bears the blush of a wild rose fair,
And when she smiles, the skies turn blue,
As if the heavens themselves declare:
"Here walks a lass of ancient grace,
A faerie kin, a whispered tale,
Her laughter paints the verdant space,
And in her eyes, the shamrocks sail."
So raise your glass to this girl so rare,
With emerald eyes and a heart that sings,
For on St. Patrick's Day, we declare,
She's the magic that every leprechaun brings.