The old fields of Duhallow for me a memory in decay <br />And what once was near and dear to me now seems so far away <br />In mid November the drains are full of water and the streams and rivers flooded to the brim <br />And the salmon against the heavy current upstream for to spawn swim. <br /> <br />The old fields of Duhallow with frost this morning gray <br />And blackbird on low branch of leafless ash his feathers fluffed to keep the cold away <br />And mavis in the windswept grove doesn't have a song to sing <br />So many cold and hungry days for him from here until the Spring. <br /> <br />The old fields of Duhallow in Spring are lush and green <br />And dandelions and buttercups and daisies in their billions to be seen <br />And bluebells, snowdrops and primroses bloom on bank by the bohreen <br />Great artists on their canvas try to preserve such a scene. <br /> <br />When those old hills of Duhallow wear their hats of early snow <br />The migrant redwing thrushes chirp on the bare hedgerow <br />And cattle in the farm yard sheds are bellowing for hay <br />And for the hard working farmer the Spring seems too far away. <br /> <br />The old fields of Duhallow as old as father time <br />Have seen myriads of Seasons come and go and inspired the old bards to rhyme <br />But what once was near and dear to me now seems so far away <br />And for me the big bird song of the tiny wren is a memory in decay.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-fields-of-duhallow/
