The snow was blowing out of doors—the drifts were piling high,and I could see the pedestrians as they were passing by.
The faces of my Irish friends came dimly through the glass,
as they trudged the icy streets to worship at their mass.
I watched a while, went back to bed and cuddled safe & sound
as they braved those icy blasts on a sacred duty bound.
I envy them their strength of heart, the faith that they renew,
but on an ice cold Sunday morn it’s good to be a Jew.
Mr. Reagan added this poem to his note cards without political correctness in mind. So, don't make too much of it and enjoy the humor behind it!