There's a special place in heaven,
That's delightful to behold,
It has no ivory palaces,
Nor mansions made of gold.
It is jewel-like in its essence,
With its sparkle and its sheen,
Its facets twinkle in the sunlight,
And it seems a lovely dream.
When God designed this wondrous site,
He had certain folks in mind,
Thus it had to be quite special,
For they were a special kind.
 While God does not play favorites,
It is a well known fact
He's been partial to the Irish,
And how the Irish act.
Now, the Irish are a droll lot,
Who've been known to drink a bit
But they're sober about Ireland,
And never want to leave it.
So when an Irishman succumbs,
And the angels come to fetch him home,
They have themselves an awful time,
As they tug and pull and moan and groan.
God is very sympathetic,
And He understands their plight,
Surely Irishmen and angels
Should never, ever fight.
So, He searched throughout all heaven,
'Til He found a site He deemed supreme,
With hills and rills and daffodils
Quite like Ireland, it seemed.
Then He took some thatch from Irish roofs,
And cobble stones from Irish streets,
Green grass from Irish hillsides,
And radiance from Irish cheeks.
He put them all together,
Inside a wall of emerald stones,
Then hung a sign upon its gate,
So now when Irishmen pass on,
And the angels come to fetch them,
They don't fuss for they're on their way
To their Ireland in heaven.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
ŠJune 2005 ~ Revised May 2008

This poem is dedicated to George Hanlon who found
his Ireland in Heaven shortly after his 84th birthday
June 12, 2005.

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