In the old fields of Inchaleigh where Finnow waters flow <br />The hunting foxes bark all night as they did years ago <br />When I was young and stronger and perhaps at my prime <br />Before I like all of the others had to bow to father time. <br /> <br />To the old fields of Inchaleigh the Seasons come and go <br />And in the Spring and Summer days the shy cock pheasant crow <br />And songbirds singing in the groves just before the sun goes down <br />In the shadows of old Clara hill just out of Millstreet Town. <br /> <br />In the old fields of Inchaleigh on a calm July night <br />I heard the corncrake calling 'crek crek' in the moon light <br />But the earlier cutting of the grass their eggs and nests destroyed <br />And the familiar calls of the migrant rails in the fields of Millstreet died. <br /> <br />To the old fields of Inchaleigh in November in the Fall <br />The redwing thrushes arrived from further north and I can well recall <br />The buzzing sort of sound they made in the cold evening breeze <br />As they were settling for the night high on their roosting trees.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-fields-of-inchaleigh/
