Well, this lil' tale doesn’t end well for Seamus the famous finger bone:
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
A wee Irish boy, taters were his toy. The life and strife o' everyone. A famine came with hunger claimed, well, dammed near everyone!
The lad worked on a boat, and kept it afloat on the way to Italy. Seeds in his pocket secured in a locket prayed for land in Sicily.
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
The man worked in Cortona on a field with the fauna. Saved his coins for later, see? Never drank whiskey, nor got too frisky, would see his potatoes be!
He set sail with a dream and a pail. Spuds on his mind, he stuck to the grind... his seeds were ne'er sown!
A geezer would, and finally could, plant his locket seeds to be. But the seeds didn’t grow, their stems didn’t show. Oh, poor, poor Seamus see!
So that was the tale that didn’t end well. Oh, poor Seamus Fingerbone!
300 years passed when an Irish lass found Fingerbone’s finger bone. It shook when they touched, wanting taters so much… long last a taste for Fingerbone!
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