I Thought I Had Left My Past Behind
I still recall the tiny wren in feathers of mottled brown
by Francis Duggan
The one who had a big bird song his one claim to renown
And as he sang on a small bush his head bobbed up and down
He and his wife raised their family in the hedgerow by the Town.
I fancy that I still can hear the voice of the clear rill
In the calm of late evening as it babbles down the hill
To join with the big river on it's journey to the sea
I thought I had left my past behind but my past is still with me.
I left the old fields and old hill for to travel far away
But in my flights of fancy I see them every day
And the hawthorns in their white blooms of May so beautiful to see
And I hear the robin singing on a silver birch tree.
The dark brown white breasted dipper with the scratchy sounding song
Once heard and seen him you remember you cannot get him wrong
He and his mate they live and breed and die in the stream the only life they know
And he chirps as he bobs up and down on rock by where the rapids flow.
I thought I had left my past behind but my past followed me on the day
That I left the woods, the fields and hills for to travel far away
And for me to hear the airborne lark I need only close my eyes
And my past is all around me each time I visualize.