Erin, for a girl who embodies Ireland

All that’s left of Ireland is her hair ―
bright carrot ― and her milkmaid-pallid skin,
her brilliant air of cavalier despair,
her train of children ― some conceived in sin,
the others to avoid it. For nowhere
is evidence of thought. Devout, pale, thin,
gay, nonchalant, all radiance. So fair!

How can men look upon her and not spin
like wobbly buoys churned by her skirt’s brisk air?
They buy. They grope to pat her nyloned shin,
to share her elevated, pale Despair ...
to find at last two spirits ease no one’s.

All that’s left of Ireland is the Care,
her impish grin, green eyes like leprechauns’.

This is a poem for a girl named Erin who embodies Ireland, an island also known as Erin, Eiru and Eire. The poem is based very loosely on an Irish cousin of mine who was a bit of a "wild child" in her youth. Keywords/Tags: Ireland, Pub, Pubs, Drinking, Flirting, Catholic, Devout, Milkmaid, Leprechaun, Leprechauns, Ale, Beer, Spirits