Irish Snow

Have you ever noticed that everything has more cachet when you add the word Irish to it: Irish coffee, Irish cream, Irish linen, Irish lace, Irish spring, Irish crystal, Irish whiskey, luck of the Irish, Irish stew, Irish pubs, Irish accents, Irish dancing, Irish sweaters, Irish lullaby, Irish wake, Irish eyes (are smiling). I challenged myself to write a song by starting with a most unlikely pairing of words to prove this point …

Irish Snow

She bends to light a candle, her lips a silent prayer Staring through the window as she combs her jet black hair Her love’s across the ocean, the letters come so slow Her love’s become a field of Irish snow

He’s sleeping in a bunkhouse, a cold and wintry night Wrapped in woolen blankets, beneath the Northern Lights He’s far from dear old Ireland, and the girl he used to know His love’s become a field of Irish snow

Chorus: Irish snow hides the shamrocks, that grow again in spring And settles on the steeple where St Bridget’s bells still ring She’s dreaming of her wedding day, the seasons come and go Her love’s become a field of Irish snow

She rocks beside the turf fire, as summer turns to fall Holding faded letters, beneath her Galway shawl The little cottage empty, the candle’s burning low Her jet black hair as white as Irish snow

Chorus