Ay, and begorrah,

I’ll tell ye a stora

Of magic  wee people who play

Tricks on the humans—

And some leave ‘em fumin’,

And some, grant their wishes …halfway!

 

One day, a young fella

Did holla and bella

Because they had turned his beer green

His friends laughed and told him,

“Ah, Sean, don’t ye scold them,

They left ya a name; it’s Irene.”

 

“A name? Irene who?

What am I s’posed to do?

Maybe grab her last name from thin air?

They said, “Ye can try it,

And we’ll not deny it

Is possible, so, do ye dare?”

 

Then, Sean said, “I think

That I’m right on the brink

Of adventure, now it would be grand

If it turns out, Irene

Is a real beauty queen,

Maybe I’ll ask her da for her hand!”

 

His friends laughed out loud,

Boyo, ye’er in a cloud,

She could just be a joke played on you.”

Well, that stopped Sean, cold,

And he felt … not so bold,

He said, “Righto, then, what should I do?

 

They said, “close yer eyes;

Ye’re in for a surprise,

Now, sit yerself down, on this wall.

Sean sat himself down;

And there wasn’t a sound

Until his friends started to call,

 

They said, “Come, Irene!

Come on, girl, sweet Irene!”

And with that, both Sean’s eyes opened wide

And a setter, most grand

Came and nuzzled his hand,

And remained, happily, by his side.

~~~

Sometimes the wee folk

Can’t resist a wee joke,

They answered this young person’s call;

The lad, sad and grumpy,

Longed for female comp’ny,

 Well, Irene’s female, after all!