An Irish Tale

Down in the valley
To the east of the knoll
Sounds the flute of O’Malley
As the church bell tolls
Played by a fair maiden
Of eighteen young years
Whose land was invaded
As O’Malley’s troops neared

Off in the forest
To the north of the Valley
The fair maiden she rested
Softly blowing the flute of O’Malley
On this beautiful morn
As the dawn is a breaking
From the old fluted horn
Was a sweet tune in the making

O’Malley and the maiden
Walk through the woods
Of the land he invaded
For the Irishmen’s good
His flute at his belt
To the river they walked
Eyeing the mountains
As they sat and they talked

A late breakfast ate O’Malley
A buffet she prepared
In the woods of the valley
For her family he’d spare
She played on his flute
For this he allowed
A sweet tune she could toot
Near the fields that were plowed

On to the mountains
He would love to explore
After drinking the fountain
And a feast he adored
To the peak of the hills
O’Malley he climbed
Its land he would steal
Precisely in time

Climbing the mountain top
His flute he did lose
Not wanting to stop
He hated to choose
Back down to the valley
He had to return
For the flute of O’Malley
She’d promised to learn

Back in the forest
To the north of the valley
The flute it was nested
At the belt of O’Malley
The fair maiden he kissed
As he hugged her from behind
Her presence he missed
While he’d started his climb

More exploring he did
Of the ravine in the hills
His flute would be hid
Allowance she will
He continued his hunt
In the valley he loved
For a cherry he wants
Like heaven above

They rest in the forest
At the end of the day
Tomorrow the west
As he goes on his way
The maiden now fruitless
In ALL of her lands
The valley’s in bliss
Knowing more than her hands