In green hedgerows of Flintfield songbirds pipe all the day <br />And countless wildflowers burst to bloom in meadows far away <br />And from the deep Blackwater pools trout jump to catch the fly <br />And butterflies flit to and fro across the sunny sky. <br /> <br />In rushy meads by Clara hill the meadow pipits sing <br />And skylark in the heavens lilt flushed with the joys of spring <br />And vixen with rabbit in mouth trots down the gorsy glen <br />To share her kill with fast growing cubs outside her hidden den. <br /> <br />In dreams i see the otters play on Finnow's green, green bank <br />And watch the startled brown hare bolt from out the scutch grass rank <br />And hear on spring time evenings the strange, strange goat like bleats <br />That long billed snipe make with his wings o'er rush fields of Millstreet. <br /> <br />And though i awake to sound of passing train and the honk of motor horn <br />Many thousand of miles from Millstreet and the vale where i was born <br />Those ever pleasant memories still linger in my mind <br />Of stream and mead and heather hill and Ireland's wild born kind.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-ever-pleasant-memories/
