In flights of nostalgic fancy I see them every day <br />Those old hills of my younger years far north and far away <br />Overlooking the green countryside to memory I recall <br />Too high and rough for men to plough them they haven't changed at all. <br /> <br />Above the morning fog that shrouds them the lark carols as he fly <br />In his song a wild beauty 'tis a natural thing of joy <br />And the horned mountain sheep I hear them bleating where some might die they survive <br />They are bred for the high and rough places where in Spring and Summer months they thrive. <br /> <br />In that far northern Country the Summer is in her prime <br />By those mountains of my childhood that inspired the bards to rhyme <br />You take the man from the mountain but the mountain in him stay <br />And the migrant from distant mountains is still a mountain man today. <br /> <br />To those old hills far north of here the Seasons come and go <br />In that green and peaceful countryside where the Blackwater flow <br />On it's journey through Duhallow it babbles deep and slow <br />Through the old fields and by woodlets and by many a hedgerow<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-flights-of-nostalgic-fancy/
