Regular rocks are too heavy.
the Bard Dad
Bonus Joke
Why did St. Patrick drive all the snakes out of Ireland? …
He couldn’t afford plane tickets!
Lily, the Luckiest Leprechaun Finder
Lily loved her little cottage nestled in the heart of Ireland. The mossy stone walls, the bright red door, and the window boxes overflowing with wildflowers made it feel just like a fairy house. Her favorite spot was the rambling garden, where her grandmother, Gran, had planted all sorts of wonders – roses with petals like silk, sunflowers towering over her head, and a patch of shamrocks that carpeted the ground in vibrant green.
“Shamrocks are special, little Lilybud,” Gran would say, her voice as soft and sweet as honey. “They hold a bit of magic, you see.”
Lily would giggle and search through the tiny three-leafed clovers, looking for one with four leaves. Everyone knew those were the luckiest of all!
One blustery spring morning, Gran called Lily to her side. “I have something to give you, my love,” she said, holding out something small wrapped in faded linen.
Lily carefully unwrapped the cloth. Nestled inside was a gleaming silver locket, its surface etched with delicate shamrocks. “It’s beautiful, Gran!” she gasped, clasping it around her neck.
“But its true beauty lies inside,” whispered Gran. She gently opened the locket, revealing a pressed shamrock with four perfect leaves. “This is one I found myself, many years ago. It’s a reminder, Lilybud, that luck isn’t only about finding four-leaf clovers. It’s about seeing the good in every day.”
Lily looked out at the garden, the wind tossing blossoms like confetti. Yes, there was magic here, not just in rare four-leaf clovers, but in the sunshine, the buzzing bees, and in Gran’s love.
The next day was market day, and Lily skipped alongside Gran, their basket overflowing with fresh eggs and fragrant bunches of herbs. The village square was buzzing with excitement as stallholders set out their wares– glistening fish, brightly colored yarn, and stacks of warm, crusty loaves of bread.
Lily’s eyes sparkled. She loved the hustle and bustle of market days, the friendly chatter, and the delicious smells in the air. But something was missing.
“Gran,” she whispered, “I don’t see Mr. O’Malley. Where’s his woodcarving stall?”
Mr. O’Malley, with his bushy white beard and twinkling eyes, was a fixture at the market. His carved wooden toys brought joy to all the village children. Gran’s brow furrowed. “You’re right, child. That’s odd.”
They asked around, but no one had seen Mr. O’Malley. Worry settled in their hearts. The old woodcarver lived alone in a cottage on the edge of the woods. What if something had happened to him?
“We must find him, Gran,” said Lily, determination replacing the worry.
They followed the winding path out of the village and into the dappled shade of the old forest. Birdsong filled the air, and wildflowers peeked out from under fallen branches. It was beautiful, but a strange quiet hung over the woods.
Suddenly, Lily heard a faint sound – a whimper, almost like a hurt animal. She hurried towards it, Gran close behind. They found Mr. O’Malley sitting against a moss-covered tree, his leg twisted at an awkward angle.
“Mr. O’Malley, you’re hurt!” cried Lily. Gran knelt beside the old man, her touch gentle and soothing.
With Gran’s help, Mr. O’Malley hobbled back to the village, where the doctor mended his leg. News spread quickly, and soon villagers came bringing warm soup, fresh bread, and offers of help around his cottage.
Sitting beside Mr. O’Malley that evening, Lily felt a warm glow in her heart. She touched the locket around her neck. Today, she hadn’t found a lucky shamrock, but she had done something far more important – she had helped a friend.
