It was shortly after 2 A.M.,

Another Saint Patties Day,

Another beer,

And more rain.

Everything for miles was in green,

Lots of shirts, hats and buildings to be seen.

I thought of the day,

The drinks,

Then old stories went through my mind,

Like a drunken skater,

Skating around a rink:

These were the only thoughts that I could think.

I remembered leprechauns, Potatoes, and rainbows,

Guinness, whiskey, and large brick roads.

As I looked up from my thoughts,

There to my surprise,

Was a rainbow,

Hanging in the sky.

I remembered the tales of the gold,

At the end of the rainbow.

I wasn’t sure of which end to try first,

But I had to try.

Not trying would have been the worst.

I headed through daffodils,

Staggered up hills,

Waved at ducks,

Who quacked through their bills.

I waded through rivers,

Avoiding nips from the fishes,

And electric scales from the eels.

There I was:

Close to the end of the rainbow.

I tried the western edge first,

It appeared to be the worst.

There was no pot and no gold,

Not even a measly cent,

Only a wreaking scent.

There was a passed out drunk,

Clutching a mostly empty glass of whiskey.

“What a disappointment,”

I exclaimed out loud.

That is when one of the drunk’s eyes opened,

And he also spoke out loud.

“That’s what my father used to say,”

Saddened by my words that had lost their way.

I chose to leave the drunk and his bottle in peace,

I headed towards the other end of the rainbow in the east.

The mountains, the hills, the daffodils and ducks,

All greeted me as I moved towards the pot of gold,

Or perhaps at least a bottle of gold.

Yet, at the eastern end,

There was nothing different,

From the western end.

A passed out drunk,

With a completely empty bottle of whiskey.

I made sure this time to be wise,

To not open my mouth,

So the drunk would not open his eyes.