A close up of a young girl wearing a green dress and a flower crown

In the heart of March, when clovers dance,
A girl with eyes like emerald leaves,
She walks the meadows, a sweet romance,
A sprite of spring, where magic weaves.
Her hair, a cascade of sun-kissed gold,
Tumbles down like a waterfall's song,
And in her laughter, legends unfold,
A melody that's been echoing long.
Her skin, a canvas kissed by dew,
Bears the blush of a wild rose fair,
And when she smiles, the skies turn blue,
As if the heavens themselves declare:
"Here walks a lass of ancient grace,
A faerie kin, a whispered tale,
Her laughter paints the verdant space,
And in her eyes, the shamrocks sail."
So raise your glass to this girl so rare,
With emerald eyes and a heart that sings,
For on St. Patrick's Day, we declare,
She's the magic that every leprechaun brings.

Algunas cosas solo se pueden decir en secreto aquí.

In the heart of March, when clovers dance, A girl with eyes like emerald leaves, She walks the meadows, a sweet romance, A sprite of spring, where magic weaves. Her hair, a cascade of sun-kissed gold, Tumbles down like a waterfall's song, And in her laughter, legends unfold, A melody that's been echoing long. Her skin, a canvas kissed by dew, Bears the blush of a wild rose fair, And when she smiles, the skies turn blue, As if the heavens themselves declare: "Here walks a lass of ancient grace, A faerie kin, a whispered tale, Her laughter paints the verdant space, And in her eyes, the shamrocks sail." So raise your glass to this girl so rare, With emerald eyes and a heart that sings, For on St. Patrick's Day, we declare, She's the magic that every leprechaun brings.

INFO