Irish Invasion

He spiked my dreams with ginseng,
His temper haunted me.
His gray eyes I know they spied
My past poetry.

I knew he was voyeur
When I looked into his face,
And he knew I had some secrets
That I could not erase.

What a cruel thing our grandparents did
Back in County Monaghan,
To make me crave the Emerald Isle
And long to know this man.

He heard my conversations,
One night he whispered my name.
I see his fingers move the guitar strings
And know I'll never be the same.

Kristin McKenna Clouse
Copyright 1994

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