LITTLE THINGS

I have but to close my eyes

And in memory I see

The little things, the Irish things

That are so dear to me;

The shamrocks we used to gather

At dawn on St. Patrick's Day.

The books we used to read by candlelight,

My father's pipe of clay;

And though I've traveled many lands,

Nowhere did I find

Little things to stir the heart

Like those I left behind.




Mary R. Hurley