Coastal Causeway round the bends,
The Irish way to the sightly Glens,
Snow and sun kiss Slemish Slopes, while
Fishermen friends are on the Ropes.
Giant Steps a tale surpassed,
Murals of pain – the old Belfast,
Republic South – divided North,
The Orange March – for what it’s worth.
Hearts of Gold and open arms,
No empty chalice of folklore charms,
Press the Shamrock to your lips,
But clutch a clover and heed the tips.
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