Touring Ireland Windjamming August
1998
August 2000
One of our stops along the way was the
Blarney Castle in Cork County
The Scooner "Grace Bailey"
Wind Jammin Blow wind blow to fill the sails and sing your songs of love We’ll sail
the coast and search the shore to find a hidden cove
We’ll anchor safe and lower the jib We’ll hang
the lanterns high And dine on deck amid the glow Of evenin’s soft pink sighs
And when the sun has set a
quilt of stars to fill our sight We’ll gather close and softly sing with voices of the night
Then when
our songs have long been sung We’ll all drift off to sleep And dream of wind songs singing and memories always
If Pigs Could Fly
There's stranger things goin' on today the likes
of, once I'd seen the river Lithy reversed her flow and washed the "Floozie" clean
Molly Malone walked Dublin
town hawking her cockle shells when Paddy's pig flew in the spire and rang St. Patricks bells
Down at Kellys
pub the Keep was pourin' out some ale when in rushed Molly with the pig she'd just rescued from jail
Where's
Paddy? Molly asked in haste he owes me for this one Chasing a rainbow, said the Keep to catch a leprechaun
Chasing
rainbows?! Molly cried and hurried out the door as Paddys pig cleaned up the brew the Keep spilled on the floor
She
hurried all through Dublin town to find the rainbows end at last to find poor Paddy sunk to his chin in the fen
With
hands on hips Miss Molly said Dear Paddy I fear the worst as your pig sips ale you wallow here your lots in life
reversed
So she stood there as he sank not knowin' what to do when suddenly from the bushes a leprechaun peeked
through
My gold he cried then jumped right in and pulled poor Paddy out give it to me the leprechaun cried as
he jumped and danced about
The gold is mine poor Paddey said for all I've endured to own you'll not have one
wretched coin 'tis for me and Molly Malone
Perseids Dance
One little star that gave us hope to light a path on an endless slope of falling, faltering failing
dreams of meteors flight in an endless stream to sparkling wavelets rippling down encircling darkness like
a crown soon to become a tiara of light and lift us from our foggy plight
The Fiddlers Bane
There is a sound that clangs forlorn the Fiddlers plight forever born that dreadful night
A monument to warn the best of Fiddlers plight forever rest fog smote from sight
Ship run aground in dark and deep the Fiddlers plight and there must keep to warn, his right
In fog did sound with bow on strings a Fiddlers plight to sing of things hidden from sight
His death be stead for those who fear the Fiddlers plight his song to hear each fog filled night
