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In Green Old Duhallow

On the banks of Finnow golden buttercups in bloom
And the fields all around scent of Nature's perfume
And the thrushes and finches pipe all through the day
And the robins are singing in groves far away.

The lark high above the rushes carols as he fly
I fancy I hear him and see him like a speck in the sky
His silent wife hidden sits in her ground nest
With the larks of the future in tiny eggs neath her breast.

Under the house eaves the sparrows make their nest of feathers in hay
An untidy affair and they chirp all the day
And the grey headed jackdaws twigs to their chimney top nest bring
And their cackling caws to them have a distinctive ring.

In her bulky nest of dried flags midst the river reeds where deep waters flow quiet
The dark moorhen sits on her eggs well hidden from sight
And amongst the rank rushes by the leafy hedgerow
For to proclaim his territory the shy cock pheasant crow.

The scratchy song of the dipper echoes in the stream
He pipes the same notes as his father 'twould seem
And well hidden away where the green mosses grow rank
Is his wife in her nest under the river bank.

The fields by the Finnow are full of wild flowers
In their millions they bloom in the mild April showers
And the swallows above the fields twitter and sing
In green old Duhallow in the days of Spring.

by Francis Duggan

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