Memories Of An Old Poet

The songs of the old poet I remember from the Land of the gray hooded crow
A man who had seen many Seasons and of Nature's ways much he did know
His rhymes had far more depth in them than jingles and his words with me do remain
And his songs in my heart are singing they take me to past times again.

I recall his beautiful poem of the dipper the dark brown bird with breast white as snow
He sang on a rock in the rapids of the river around where bright waters did flow
That poem I will always remember from my memory it did not fade
He was a true poet in his own right and poets are born not made.

The old poet as I do remember was a credit to the great Wordsmith trade
Yet in his honour never a local celebration or for him never a parade
A person who did love Nature and one that the years had left gray
He wrote of natural beauty and with Nature he forever now lay.

The old poet I have not forgotten though he died many decades ago
He sung of the song thrush and robin and the little wren of the hedgerow
The chaffinch, the otter and badger and the great tit that nests in the hole in the wall
And the fox and the rook and the rabbit are the songs of his I can recall.

by Francis Duggan

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