White ink fine line script reading Misneach Siorai above three shamrocks on a forearm.

White ink shamrocks and script on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A white ink tattoo on the forearm shows the script phrase Misneach Siorai above a sprig of three shamrocks on thin, curling stems. The linework is fine and even, with light shading inside the leaves. The pale ink sits lightly against the skin tone, with a dark background behind the arm.

Fine line Botanical Lettering Forearm Shamrock Clover Script Stem Leaves White ink

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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

Sit yourself down by the stove, mind the coal bucket, that's it. Don't light the lamp yet. Let the water talk a while first, because on the Crane Lock it always has more to say than anyone on the bank. My grandfather, Tomas Brennan, kept that lock for forty winters, and the winter I'm telling you about, the river came up over the towpath and took two of the Hennessy ewes clean away.

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Nessa was nine that year and she had a stub of white chalk from the schoolroom, the soft sort you use on slate. She'd been sent to fetch the milk and came back instead with the chalk in her fist, drawing on the lock-house wall while the rain beat down. Shamrocks, three leaves each, with stems that curled down toward the waterline like they were looking for something. My grandfather stood in the doorway, dripping, and read the words she'd written above them. Misneach siorai. Courage that doesn't run out, he said. My mother laughed and said he'd only ever learned that from a calendar. He didn't laugh with her.

The rain stopped by morning and the chalk had washed to nothing, or so we all thought. Then the spring flood came early, and the lower gate jammed with debris, and the barge was caught broadside in the race. Nessa was the only one small enough to get out along the stones. When the frost lifted off the wall at first light, the pale shamrocks were still there, plain as a promise, and she stood on them, leaning her whole weight on the iron bar, until the gate swung free.