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    Seáinín
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    Cheap mé go mbainfeadh sibh sult as an dán seo. Is dócha go bhfaca cuid agaibh cheana féin é.

    [size=4]”Micheál Mór agus City Sue”[/size]

    [size=4]”Grá agus gnéas in Éirinn”[/size]

    I heard this story ó m’athair,
    (If you haven’t Gaeilge it doesn’t matter.)
    This rural Ireland tragic tale
    Narrates a sad seductive scéal
    Concerning Lust without discretion
    – Agus beagnach Rudaí Eile freisin

    Uair amháin – fadó fadó
    On a little farm near Carraroe
    Lived buachaill maith named Micheál Mór
    An only son of thirty-four.
    When work was done ag deireadh an lae,
    He’d settle down with cupán tae
    And seldom felt the call to stroll
    Or spend the evening time ag ól.
    His intellectual needs were drawn
    From books like Peig and Íosagán.

    And so it was – bliain in – bliain out
    Our Micheál hadn’t moved about
    He dreamt of cailíní – most men do –
    But never sinned – an dtuigeann tú?

    Meantime – up in Átha Cliath
    A cailín deas had bright idea –
    When laethanta saoire time came by
    Decided she would like to try
    Áit bheag chiúin like Carraroe –
    (No foreign bia, not far to go.)

    This cailín deas with eyes so blue
    Was known in town as City Sue
    The lusty buachaillí came crawling –
    And all agreed she was go hálainn!
    She left her fir in state of shock –
    Ó Micheál Mór – bí cúramach!
    This Scarlet Woman knows each trick –
    She’s heading West – Fainic, a mhic!

    An solas shone in the Parish Hall
    For the local Fáinne Wearers Ball
    Bhí Micheál ann – bhí Susie ann
    Dressed in the most revealing gown!

    Our brave Cú Chulainn of the West –
    (his hurling medals cross his chest)
    Exclaimed – when City Sue came in –
    “In ainm Dé – bhuel – féach ar sin!”
    Though nervous – still, he took a chance –
    “Céad Míle Fáilte – will you dance?”
    Go luath – on the floor they strut
    Cheek to cheek – an craiceann nocht!

    Cogar Sue into Micheál’s ear –
    “Éist liom now – let’s disappear –
    We’ll use my place – the door’s unlocked –
    You’ll stay the night – Seomra a hocht!”
    Chríost! Micheál’s ceann was in a spin –
    Ní raibh she thinking smaointí mar sin! –
    He blessed himself … this Jessabel!
    Would surely damn his soul to hell!
    He stood aghast – could hardly stutter –
    so off he bolted – ar a rothar –
    Díreach abhaile – into bed –
    Decades of the Rosary said!

    IARFHOCAL

    Micheál Mór still sleeps alone –
    In his leaba beag – Ochón, Ochón.
    He often dreams of seomra a hocht
    WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN – Ó Micheál Bocht!

    IARFHOCAL EILE

    Agus níl smid bhréige ann. Bhuel, sin a rá, ní bfhuair mé an scéal seo ó
    m’athair ach fuair Jim Mullarkey é óna athair féin agus d’fhoilsigh sé é sa
    Dublin Opinion, Meithimh 1987.

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