Irish April Apples

Box by the sea

I’d watched as love and nature

Came from nurture

‘Til it was brought to me

Deep green tile and Pogue Mahone titles

Rolling hills I’d be told and told myself

Were too far

That’s a pretty Yorkshire smile

But you ran away with the pudding man as a young girl. That’s a painful scotch smirk spilled on wool

At bay, you were neutral as a

Culturally confused conman

All I wanted was a dog and lovers walk from Richmond to

Phoenix Park

I had and have both now

At 18 I thought I understood how it works

But I don’t

I just always wanted to stand in the vineyard