Across the field of deep emerald green,
The figure of a man is often seen,
Many are those that claim it's surely Shawn
But this cannot be because he is gone.
In that very field he met fate one day,
When he lost the duel with Thomas Gray.
Both loved the lass with the emerald eyes
But for her it’s Shawn her lonely heart cries.
She visits that meadow outside of town
And with tears shed, hopes her heartache to drown.
For Thomas Gray, she can only feel hate,
But blameless she’s not, now it’s to late.
She wishes she had not been such a flirt
And perhaps not have worn such a short skirt,
Because it was that now long ago night,
That the two men started a ruthless fight.
Is the ghost of Shawn wearing the field path?
Or apparition of the aftermath?
Will she forget no matter how she tries,
This Irish lass with the emerald eyes?
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