Irish Harps Poem by Mark Heathcote

Irish harps cast a spell when played well.
It could be that those players are pretty.
And they put me under some, kind of spell.
Secretly, my heart wants to accompany:
Drum to every string, and hope one looks
From me, and they'll lose their heart, their key.
Oh, Irish Rose, you keep me on tenterhooks.
Oh, Irish harps cast a spell on me.
The hand that plucks this chord must grasp the flame.
And touch the burning that can't be doused.
And not even a good strong stout can drain
The way she picks those strings out of my heart
Irish harps cast a spell when played well.
Oh, Emerald Isle, you're the star of my heart.
Oh, look at me now, dumbstruck, open-mouthed.
It could be desire comes to me unannounced.