Twisted crooked man
little as a leprechaun

tin whistle
stuck in his smile

eyes closed

fingers dancing

as if it
were playing
him.

His hat
overflowing

with the sound
of coin upon coin

the crowd
charmed

enraptured

as if hypnotised

as if the rainbow
ended here

& he
playing with all his heart

...the crock of gold.

Dónall Dempsey

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/crock-of-gold-for-lyn/