The Irishman

I met an Irishman walking down the path yesterday;
It was by the river at sweet cool dawn.
My feet slipping in tourist shoes,
Trying not to catch the gravel under my toes.
His feet were wrapped up in brown leather boots
They looked warm and cozy like a patchwork quilt in October 
We saw each other when the light was still behind the water
And the shadows were on our faces like windy masks
I glanced up at the light that was sitting behind his head,
Glinting through his hair and shining onto my forehead,
For the sun was starting to rise and so was my heart.
My face was tight but began to relax
As I stared (in a slightly rude curious manner)
At the Irishman by the docks.
A slight wind blew around us and he spoke,
Asking what the morning was and how I was doing.
I was slightly taken aback
His voice so gentle and lilting
It reminded me of the sharp vanilla frozen yogurt I used to have
Tart as a sour grape
But tangy and smooth all the same.
I'd add chocolate chips to the sweet icy treat
Making it chunky and deliciously softly good
It seemed that he had swallowed some of this for breakfast
And was letting the cream speak for him.
I simply smiled as the wind gave another brisk blow and 
The sun was still rising. It was on my face now, and I turned my cheeks up to it,
Smiling as the Irishman looked at me a bit curiously.
What a kind morning.