In the morning mist where the heather blooms,
The whispers of ancient tales softly loom,
Rolling hills and emerald dreams,
Where life flows like gentle streams.

The song of the lark at break of day,
Guides the hearts that find their way,
Through cobblestone streets and laughter’s call,
In every pub where stories enthrall.

The dance of shadows on castle walls,
Echoes of history in ancient halls,
The spirit of those who came before,
Lives on in the folklore and more.

Under the vast and starry skies,
The land where myths and life entwine,
In every soul, a piece of the isle,
A timeless dance, an Irish smile.