Erin O'Eire
By rcpollitz
She says that she's simple, though I know she's complex. Always reaching, always seeking, the Isle of the Blessed. Determined to live life with only the best. She's my friend, Erin O'Eire. She shines in the morning with hardly a care, And values her freedom so seekers beware. She'll disarm you with a with a smile, that will cause you to stare. She's my friend, Erin O'Eire. The lass is a tempest that weakens my resolve, And makes my mind long to become more involved. Her heart is a mystery that yearns to be solved. She's my friend, Erin O'Eire. Her eyes sparkle softly with deep hidden pain, For a love that she harbored, though it ended in vain. I feel for her loss, though she drives me insane. She's my friend, Erin O'Eire. A memory to hold like the smell of the sea, The thought of her smiling, brings my youth back to me. And though she's not Irish, in my heart she will be, My friend, Erin O'Eire. Written November 4th, 2001 © on Nov 04 2001 02:27 AM PST 20 • 0 • 8
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"She says that she's simple, though I know she's complex. ..."