ON the eighth day of March it was, some people say, That Saint Pathrick at midnight he first saw the day; While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born, And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn; for mistakes @3will@1 occur in a hurry and shock, And some blam'd the baby -- and some blam'd the clock -- Till with all their cross-questions sure no one could know, If the child was too fast -- or the clock was too slow. Now the first faction fight in ould Ireland, they say, Was all on account of Saint Pathrick's birthday, Some fought for the eighth -- for the ninth more would die. And who wouldn't see right, sure they blacken'd his eye! At last, both the factions so positive grew, That @3each@1 kept a birthday, so Pat then had @3two,@1 Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them their sins, Said, "No one could have two birthdays but a @3twins."@1 Says he, "Boys, don't be fightin' for eight or for nine, Don't be always dividin' -- but sometimes combine; Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark, So let that be his birthday." -- "Amen," says the clerk. "If he wasn't a @3twins,@1 sure our hist'ry will show -- That, at least, he's worth any @3two@1 saints that we know!" Then they all got blind dhrunk -- which complated their bliss, And we keep up the practice from that day to this. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE RANGITAKI VALLEY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A PORTRAIT OF MY ROOF by JAMES GALVIN THE WALL STREET PIT, MAY, 1901 by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COONEY POTTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |