Sweet Mary

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  • Irish Lore

    Poem Commentary

    Just simple Irish storytelling

    Sweet Mary

     

    Come closer my friend I have a tale to tell ye

    About a bonnie young lass they called sweet Mary

    Hair of scarlet red and eyes of deep green

    With a smile like sunshine, a sight to be seen

    She was born of the forest, her parents unknown

    But rumors have it her father was a royal Irish gnome

    Be it true or be it false, Sweet Mary will not tell

     And her Grandmother speaks not, as if under a magical spell

    Sweet Mary and her Grandmother live high in the hills

      Gathering wild fruits of all kind and tending to their stills

    Now and then you might see them selling their liquid wares

    From the back of a wagon in the town’s little central square

    They label it medicinal to keep the constable at bay

    Slipping him a bottle or two now and then and receiving no pay

    The young lads of the town gather and stare at Sweet Mary

    Searching for the courage to speak but being ever so wary

    She is somewhat mystical in form an almost magical creature

    The young lads have not a clue on how they might reach her

              For each time a single lad has attempted to approach and then speak

    No words roll from his lips, not even the slightest of squeaks

    They fall under her spell as she flashes green eyes in their direction

    And in an instant they fall mute from some mysterious affliction

             

     The years they rolled by and Sweet Mary’s Grandmother was no more

    Yet Sweet Mary carried on as she had heretofore

    Rain or shine you could find her alone in the town square

    Still vibrant and smiling with a bright flower in her hair

    She had aged not a day growing lovelier with the years

    Yet, if you looked more closely you might notice an occasional tear

    On a warm day in May with the flowers all in bloom

    Sweet Mary arrived in the square holding a bouquet of scotch broom     

    As dusk settled in and Sweet Mary prepared to depart

    A mysterious figure approached her as if he had something to impart

    He said nothing out loud but instead whispered quietly in her ear

    His words known only to her as no other person could hear

    She reached for his hand and he lifted her slowly to the wagon seat

    And then she beckoned for him to join her in a manner e’er so sweet

    The wagon rolled toward the nearby hills never to be seen again

    Lost forever in the quiet seclusion of a long forgotten glen

               The words the stranger whispered to Sweet Mary are never to be known

    But it is said that he that spoke them must have been a princely Irish gnome

     

    ©Copyright Charlie Gragg. November 27, 2010     

      

    Poem Comments

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    Madelynn commented on Sweet Mary

    12-20-2010

    How perfetly enchanting, as only a true Irish tale, penned by a true Irish heart, could ever possible create! Hampton once again, you have delivered such a smile upon me Irish face!!!- Your the master of emerald tales, dearest,LOVE THIS!!- Maddi

    Hampton

    12/20/2010

    Makes these patially Irish eyes (the rest Scottish) shine with pride. Thank you Lass.

    StandingBear commented on Sweet Mary

    12-04-2010

    A finely written irish tale of romance for ages to come! Any time I need to read and enjoy a *feel good poem* ... I visit your site! Glad you're here! Bear

    Hampton

    12/04/2010

    Likewise and I thank you.

    MindNumbing commented on Sweet Mary

    12-03-2010

    What an absolutely delightful tale, Hampton! So well written, and I'm fascinated with everything pertaining to Ireland so I especially loved that aspect. Thanks so much for sharing :)

    Hampton

    12/03/2010

    We have a fascination with Ireland in common. Thank you so much for your comments.

    Stryx commented on Sweet Mary

    12-03-2010

    Me thinks you have been touched by the o' the green. In fact, I think ya might be a leprechaun...

    Hampton

    12/03/2010

    Funny you should say that. The same thought has crossed my wee mind more than once.

    Olan01 commented on Sweet Mary

    12-02-2010

    You have woven quite a Irish tale about Sweet Mary, I wonder what he said to her, smile. Now, go and tell her I said hello. Love, peace and freedom, Olan.

    Hampton

    12/02/2010

    I send you many thanks for your loyal patronage.

    Olan01

    12/02/2010

    It is always a previlage to read you poem.

    Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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    The Computer From Hell 18
    Life Ain’t for Sissies 16
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    The Game of Poetry 9
    Silence 55
    WordSlinger 19
    Holiday Thoughts 12
    Sweet Mary 18
    From White to Grey to Black 19
    The Reckoning 12
    And All of That Jazz 16
    Today 25
    No Offense, Just My Opinion 16
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    The Female Gender 17
    I’m In Charge Here, Aren’t I? ( With Epilogue) 10
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    This Web We Weave 13
    The End 16
    The Day the Clouds Cried 16
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    Humanities Challenge 14
    A Cowboy's Perspective 12
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    The Chatelaine 12
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    The Man What Am 10
    The Final Beat of My Heart 16
    The Rainbow of Poets 19
    A Cowboy's Lament 13
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    The Wee People 19
    An Evening at an Irish Pub 15
    The Scent of Love 14
    Fresh News from Buda Texas 16
    Memories of Times Past 13
    The Dance of the Poets 20
    The Confession 14
    Road to Obscurity 18
    Barbara 14
    Shadows 15
    Prescience 17
    Words That Bind 54
    Wondering 26
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    Christmas 25
    A Cowboy’s Prayer 29
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    Love Defined 27
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    The Long Wait. 19
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    Ghostly Images 16
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    Pride and Shame 18
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