Holiday maker

Holiday maker 

Thank you gentle waiters 
Who serve me on a Sunday 
 Who leave your beds and families 
To spoil an Irish tourist. 

Thank you gentle staff 
Who sacrifice your evenings  
To tend my every need 
To wine and dine and feed. 

I who have no divine right 
To be sitting on your beaches 
But you make me welcome all the same 
In your sacred places. 

I have only money 
And money shouldn’t buy 
The world and all its graces 
The world’s vast open spaces. 

 I am sitting happy here 
On my balcony 
Above the crashing waves 
Above the sparkling sea. 

‘What have I done?’, I ask 
To deserve this guilty pleasure 
‘Nothing’ comes the answer 
 But lucky charms and accident. 

Dearest waiter we are not worthy 
To be served like royalty 
This is your country after all 
We are but passing through. 

I am not entitled by my money 
You don’t owe me a thing 
I’m so grateful you’re so gracious 
I don’t deserve this dream.

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