William Shields, he was born,
For star destiny'd been torn
Went on stage at an Irish theater
Success came in strong,
Made performing, his song
And would move off to Hollywood, later

With Bing Crosby, picked to play
In the film, "Going My Way",
As the wise catholic priest of the parish
And won it by a yard,
Academy Award,
Loved by ladies, and tagged "Cudd'ly bear-ish"

Spoke rich Irish brogue,
And quite the likable rogue
That was Barry Fitzgerald, the actor
"Ahh tut, tut" he would say
In his sing songy way
With his leprochaun looks..benefactor

Great smile, dimp'ly wide,
And just enough charm and pride,
Notched him unique and much imitated
And as movie stars go,
Cast a warm special glow
Never one, whom an audience hated

Digressing a bit,
On the stage, he would first hit
With a play by the great Sean O'Casey
In Hollywood scored
For legend, John Ford
Next a film, also penned by O'Casey

He glistened like chrome
In "The Long Voyage Home"
Stole scenes in, "How Green Was My Valley"
"And Then There Were None"
Was a fine film he'd done
And "The Quiet Man", right down his alley

Here, with John Wayne,
Drove the carriage from the train
As in Ireland, Wayne is arriving
A unique part,
In a film with heart,
Thru the lush irish hills..they are driving

Barry loved to play golf
Once, accidently broke off
Treasured head of his gold Oscar statue
A bad practice swing,
Tho' it tumbled with a fling
Thought Barry, do not worry, I'll patch you..

Does anyone know
where great actors souls go
When they pass on..in their final second
Barry died, records say,
in a true Irish way
Home in Dublin, when he heard the Lord beckon

So, he would end up..
where it all first began
The year "Sixty-one", January
And was buried, his will..
on a green peaceful hill
With six somber pallbearers to carry

White caps blow free
On the Irish Sea
Fishing boats net for herring and salmon
In neighborhood clubs,
And Dublin pubs
Old men play card games and backgammon

'Round statues of stone,
like Molly Malone
The tourists still flock, to see daily
Also, the great Spire
in Dublin, there's none higher
And Cork, where the quartets croon gaily

While parishioners pray,
Many clear choir tones
Echo out from St. Patrick's Cathedral
The tower bell chimes,
High on the walls, ivy climbs
As if honoring Barry Fitzgerald

His legend lives on
from the old soil on down
Tho' the years since his passing are many
Here in the USA,
Or, in Ireland far away
Better loved movie stars..there aren't any