On St. Patrick’s Day, all the pubs were closed;
all of the Irish beer drinkers got hosed.
Stay home, life of Riley, Erin go Bragh;
no pubs on Patrick’s Day sticks in my craw.
St. Patrick’s Day parade was cancelled too;
this virus caused many people to stew.
My four leaf clover brought no luck today;
all the St. Patrick’s fun now turned away.
Green beer a standard at Irish Bob’s Bar;
patrons would arrive from near and from far.
No signs of leprechauns with pot of gold,
because this year Irish rites were on hold.
(No camaraderie, no pub-served drink;
too bad this custom is now on the blink.
There was no corned-beef nor cabbage to share—
a wee disrupter about everywhere.)
March seventeen oh so festive for sure;
bright Irish eyes smiling always endure.
Yet closures happening both left and right;
gone are the greens for St. Patrick’s delight.
Bring on a rainbow that spans coast to coast;
then perhaps we can again have a toast.
As long as this virus travels the land,
there are no pubs nor St. Patrick’s Day band.
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