A Memory Of The Wood By Mushera Mountain

I cut down trees in wood by Mushera mountain
Where in the snow the sheep of hunger died
In Winter 'twas a bleak and barren country
But Spring brought beauty to that mountain side.

I saw the whitened skeletons of creatures
With bits of wool around that told of sheep
The farmers only kept them for the bounty
The market prices for them far too cheap.

In early Spring I seldom see the mountain
Behind the fog it quietly hid away
There must be an easier way to earn a living?
That to myself I often used to say.

But latter Spring brought beauty back to Mushera
And skylark o'er the the hill piped all the day
And the wild birds were singing and nest building
And hawthorns wore white blossoms of the May.

On leafy nest on moss hidden by bracken
In higher wood the woodcock quietly lay
To the high woodland in the Spring she journey
From wintering places many miles away.

The Winter months were hard by Mushera mountain
And December to March brought frost, rain and snow
But woodcock journeyed back to the high woodlands
In Spring when warmer winds began to blow.

I worked in high wood at the back of Mushera
By fog the mountain often hid away
And there must be an easier way to earn a living?
To myself I so often used to say.

by Francis Duggan

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