Back there in old Duhallow the frosty fields are gray <br />And the wildborn birds are silent at the dawning of the day <br />And the chilly winds of January sough in the naked trees <br />And ice is on the dark pond from the hard overnight freeze <br />In January in Duhallow the hedgerows looking bare <br />And in the rushy field by the river the shy and elusive hare <br />In the greyness of his surroundings quite visible in his coat of brown <br />For to warm the coldness in his bones through the rushes racing up and down <br />From the fields of old Duhallow the Spring seems far away <br />And the cattle in the farm-yard shed are bellowing for hay <br />And hungry birds by the back door squabble over crusts of bread <br />And before the warmth of Spring weeks of cold weather ahead <br />And the chirping house sparrows in the back-yard the only birds one does hear <br />Back there in old Duhallow tis a cold time of the year.<br /><br />Francis Duggan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/back-there-in-old-duhallow-the-frosty-fields-are-gray/
