They were after telling stories,
For, to put a frame on it,
There was nothing else to be doing of a brisk evening.
Don’t you know.
Oh, ‘tis true there was a fine view from above Clare’s field
Where the path led by a fairy fort—
The tourists were all quite taken with that,
Don’t you know,
Always wanting to hike up to the crest of the hill
Past the fairy fort—
Which is nothing but a circle of trees.
Yes, they were after telling stories in the evening
When the wind was blowing the rain from the North
Or was it the West?
It was a wayward wind for certain, that night,
Don’t you know.
And what was there to be doing after all,
But listen to the wind and watch the fire,
Keeping warm,
Don’t you know.
And even were it a dry night,
Though those are rare enough—
The “lovely peace and quiet”
Admired so by the tourists
Can be wearing on a man,
Don’t you know.
#PoetryandIreland #IrishPubsandPoetry
So, what’s to do but off to the pub for a drink
And a bit of storytelling.
A bit of gossiping, as well,
Don’t you know.
Reminding the other fellow of his foolishness
When he was a lad and his faults now he’s a man,
And if tempers should rise,
A pint or a small one will soften any who’re taken to anger.
Well, almost any,
Don’t you know.
Yes, they were after telling stories
Each man in his turn playing out the words
To the praise of the rest
Like dancers urged from the crowd
And encouraged into exhibiting their skill in stepping.
Just so,
Don’t you know.
And a good story will call for another,
Drink being a reward for the telling and the listening—
Spirits to warm you when living can’t—
Don’t you know.
Yes, they were old friends and neighbors gathered about
And they were after telling stories one brisk evening.
Yes, they were after telling stories,
Since for certain there was nothing else to be doing,
Don’t you know.
