for Mr. Donegal Square
He has great hands, great feet
and a great grin.
A strapping boy, the pride of his mum,
he grew into a horse of a sport with a tongue
like the clapper of a bell
and a ready laugh.
Sure, and he could sell a fur coat to a cat
and charm the last cent from
a parson's pocket. A hand-knit
sweater for Mrs. O'Grady--who knits--
and a cream pot for her auntie, who takes
her coffee black.
That Harris Tweed jacket
goes home in a box for Mr. Adair,
but has he seen the new pyjamas, too?
And some candy, then, for Sean
and little Colleen?
"I'll just put the cap
on our hat-stretcher, Ma'am,
and down the stairs he goes
to pull the hat between his hand
and big shoe. Watching him there
his staff laughs hard enough
to embarrass themselves. Upstairs again
he hands the lady her stretched hat
saying earnestly, "I'm sure that'll do,
and you won't be washing a tweed hat
for your son next time, will you?"
He's a showman, but isn't he the one
for lending an ear to your
troubles or your jokes?
And isn't he the man
with the truck you can borrow
or the room you can use?
You can't park for free when you
work for him, but who else will
lend you the money to pay your parking fines?
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