Green and yellow outlined shamrock tattoo with a curling swirl on the inner forearm near the wrist, in fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Green shamrock with swirl on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A small shamrock with three heart-shaped leaves is outlined in green with yellow highlights, and a curling tendril extends from one side. Fine linework and small dots decorate the leaf edges and the centre, with some inner strokes shading the petals. The tattoo sits on pale skin near the wrist, centred in the frame against a dark background.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Shamrock Clover Swirl Dot Leaf

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The biscuit tin had gone damp again, and the captain's sea biscuit was growing a fur of green by the time I found it. I had the range roaring and the mutton in the pot before the first watch was out, Davy at my elbow with the potatoes, the swell pitching the pans against the rail.

Keep reading

My mother pressed the clover into my hand on the quay at Cobh, flat and brittle, and told me a leaf with three hearts would keep a girl fed on any ocean. I kept it in the flour bin, where the damp couldn't reach it. On bad days I took it out and turned it to the lamp: three leaves, and a tendril curling off the side like the steam that rose when Davy lifted the kettle lid.

Davy caught his wrist on the hot rail that night, and the blister rose white as a pearl. I cut a clean rag, smeared it with lard, and sat him on the coal box while I drew on the slate above the range with a stub of chalk. Three hearts, a stalk, a curl at the side. 'Three things a sailor needs,' I told him. 'Wind, a full belly, and someone to wake him for the watch.' He asked where the fourth was. I pointed at the curl. 'That one's always the hardest to see.'

By morning the captain had his mutton, the boy had stopped crying, and the chalk drawing was smudged to nothing by a dozen passing sleeves. I found the sprig in the flour that night, flattened and still green at the edges, and put it back where the damp couldn't reach.