NO BLARNEY


Sure and I'm tellin' ya true 'tis a thing
That a normally sane man will do,

To pacify instincts -- a thirst for eloquence --
Tease his detractors too,

Hundreds of feet high it's set
In a wall near a parapet's window,

There's no other way to reach the thing --
But two people hold your legs and don't let go,

The kiss, when you do it, is like touching a corpse
At a kinsman's final wake,

The only difference -- you feel no joy --
No results of the chances that you take,

There really is Blarney -- city, castle and stone,
Where you dangle, raise a bit and plant a kiss,

No outward appearance changes -- no mementos of your feat,
Just a sense of satisfaction and words like this.

                                           by D. Edgar Murray 05/22/2000.