St. Paddy's day Ponderances

Auburn tressed ( though I'm no Shannon or Colleen) circumstances have made my home the desert... arid, though never barren I have learned of its bounty... Still, this is no Emerald Isle- there's no verdant lushness here, only rocky sierras and wind. And water is scarce, no lakes like at Innisfree, no cabin of wattles made to retreat to. Looking at me, my coloration I can understand how I'm mistaken for Gaelic and though I'm not, I've the fire that sass of a contender- the fight of the Irish. And I know of resistance and revolution Hungarian, it flows in my veins... Though I've never developed a taste for ale, ( some call it grog) never downed a Guinness... it is the grape, sweet wine I once craved. Poet, I share the sentiments of those bards of yore- Oh, Irish poets, I know you'd understand how I can picture myself green-gowned astride a white steed hair as flame, trailing behind me.