Chevron, chevron,

One too many chevrons

Dot the map

Showing the cartographer 

Where the mountains are,

And if I followed up them north

All the way from Waterford 

The good folks at Kilkenny

Would never let me pass.

"You can't go walking on the grass!"

They'd shout to me from their castle.

"You'll wake the dead asleep here

In the crypts!"

And if I could but go around

Callan, Kells, or Thomastown,

I could meet you in Ballyfolyle by noon

And gladly spend the afternoon with you.

We could lie in Dunmore cave

And pretend our graves were royal, too,

Just as those buried in Kilkenny Castle do.

But alas, the folks at Kilkenny Castle,

Those alive, and those buried there,

Will never let me marry you,

You whose tartan plaids are blue and green,

And so I'll stay at Waterford

And milk the goats and tend the orchard

While the wind blows my scarf and unties my apron

And scatters my capons willynilly,

And I'll dream silly dreams, Silly,

Dream silly dreams of you.

-jenn