Saint Stevens night, about fifteen years ago, the Droleen Tir Na Og, had just turned the corner onto 207th street in Inwood (uptown Manhattan) when we ran into an elderly lady in her eighties at least. She looked shocked for an instant, then began to clap her hands and do a Wren jig step. She hadn't seen a Wren since she was a young girl and left the west of Ireland.
A note on the Droleen (wren) Most Wrens - all I know of, don't kill the bird these days but instead rely on a fake one. It is carried in a small cage of woven withies, hung from a pole.
The wren the wren the king of all birds
on midwinter day was caught in a furze
so come Mrs Ryan and be a good friend,
and give us a tuppence to bury the wren
Nollag maith agut
Larry