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This is the story of one dear Colleen Malone,
Who lived on a hilltop in a house all alone.
She played her fiddle in the sun each day,
And danced a jig to chase sadness away.
She tended to a garden that was kept by her there,
And dreamed of a man for whom she could care.
A man who was kind, burly and strong,
One who could sing while she played along.
But her hill was surrounded by the homes of her brothers,
And if a man should attempt it they’d call out to each other.
Then they would stop his pursuit of their darling sister,
By explaining the truth to that daring mister.
It was true that she was born of a peculiar ilk,
It seemed that her laughter could curdle sweet milk.
And if a man were to hear it, it would stifle his ardor,
And a life without laughter would be that much harder.
There’s not a man in Ireland could abide such a thing,
To live life without laughter or a reason to sing.
So the brothers sought a man who had no joy in his life,
Who would never allow laughter for him or his wife.
Only this man could be content with her worth,
And live his whole life without ever tempting her mirth.
So the brothers went out and scoured the land,
Looking for the one who could ask for her hand.
And then in the village of Wee Astor Brook,
They made the acquaintance of one Pastor McShook.
This pastor it seemed had no desire towards joy,
And the brothers agreed that they’d found their boy.
So they trundled him off in the back of their wagon,
And filled him with whiskey then started in bragin’
About their sister Colleen and her long auburn hair,
About her emerald eyes and the life they might share.
By the time that they’d arrived he was good primed and warned,
Be sure not to insight laughter lest you leave her forlorn.
McShook swore to them that he’d never be able,
To allow laughter or song while sat down at her table.
For frivolous sentiment had no place in his heart,
Only sacrificial repentance could ere play a part.
So with one last swig from the bottle he started uphill,
In hopes of convincing her to yield to his will.
But once at her door ‘twas he who was captured,
For her beauty and charms left him completely enraptured.
Ne’er had he been enchanted by such a sweet face,
He now knew for certain that he craved her embrace.
And that very day they went to church and were wed,
Then that very night ‘twas back to their bridal bed.
Down at the hill’s foot the brothers gathered and prayed,
That come morning McShook the night might have stayed.
But their prayers were interrupted by a terrible sound,
A cross between crushed bagpipes and a baying hound.
They knew that he must have done something to please her,
Surely he caused laughter when he started to squeeze her.
At dawn’s light, up hill they climbed to keep him from leaving,
When they arrived their discovery was beyond all believing.
Because there in the garden sweet Colleen was at work,
While from inside of the house came laughter berserk.
The source of the sounds the brothers had mistaken,
Fore the discordant laughter came from a Pastor McShaken.
It seemed that Colleen had loosed a lifetime of laughter,
The floodgates now opened, came one and the next one right after.
And the sound that he made as his joy was poured out,
Was like the bawling of cows grazing in a field of sour kraut.
And when the raucous noise ended and he came to the door,
The grin on his face said he’d learned what life was meant for.
For the love that he’d found had changed his mind about laughter,
And he hoped that it continued even in the hereafter.
It has been said that ne’er was there a couple more suited,
Than the happy McShooks when the two of them hooted.
For the joy he’d received from a well-matched wife,
Brought much happiness to him for the rest of his life.
Let this be a lesson to you about the mysteries of the Lord,
About the strange way He works to bring us each to accord.
Believe me when I say that love finds a way,
So go with a laugh and enjoy St. Patrick’s Day!
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--Submitted by lanet on 2011-03-13.
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Phyllis Beckman:
Giggle
Phyllis Beckman
Posted 03/13/2011 03:17 PM
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