In fields where clover gently sway,
The whispers of the winds do play,
Emerald hills in soft embrace,
Where nature’s heart finds its grace.

The lilt of streams through valleys wide,
Carries tales of time in stride,
In the shade of ancient oaks,
Silent stories the land evokes.

Heather blooms beneath the sky,
A tapestry where dreams can fly,
With every breeze, a gentle call,
Echoes of Ireland, cradle of all.

Misty mornings greet the day,
In golden light, the shadows sway,
Nature’s song in every leaf,
A symphony of joy and grief.