Poem Hunter
In Matty Owens Bog
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In Matty Owens Bog

Poem By Francis Duggan

The pipe of the curlew I fancy I hear
In Matty Owens bog many miles north of here
In the calm of a June evening melodious and clear
In Summer a beautiful time of year

By the watery bog hole with her blotched eggs neath her breast
Cloaked by the rank rushes his quiet wife sits on her nest
The curlews of the future to life she will bring
The beauty of Nature is an amazing thing.

The pink breasted bullfinch so lovely to see
Perched on a high branch of a silver birch tree
One that one could stand and admire all day long
The beautiful bird with an ordinary song.

In the river pool the moorhen utters her shrill warning cry
To her young to alert them of danger nearby
Three tiny dark chicks with red faces mum's warning does heed
And swim into cover to hide in the reed.

Above Matty Owens bog in the still of the night
The male snipe with his tail in the Summer moonlight
He proclaims his territory in the night sky
And drums out a warning to other male snipe as he fly.

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