I wrote this for my husband's Valentine's Day:)

An Irishman tired and weary,
Bowed down by his hard work and strife,
Might stop and reflect on his fortunes,
Make a measure of his place in life.

His pockets might always be empty,
His back might be aching and sore,
But the riches he has are as many
As the roses that grow by his door.

His wife is at work in the kitchen,
With a smile and a treat for his tea,
And a wee one as pretty as moonbeams,
Is climbing to perch on his knee,

His fortune is not made of money,
His bankroll may always be small,
But his richness is counted in blessings,
And his gold is the rose on his wall.

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by REBECCA O. (sunnybrookgal)

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Joyce M. (j3m) - 2/24/2009 9:42 AM ET

very nice

Ashley P. (Jordan) - 2/24/2009 1:15 PM ET

This is a very touching and creative poem. I love how you know the real difference if wealth. If you have one another you have everything, but then again you already know that.

Ruth D. - 2/24/2009 9:42 PM ET

Excellent!

Comments 1 to 3 of 3

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The Eclectic Pen - Pot of Gold

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