Near Where The Araglen Flow

Poem By Francis Duggan

On a cold December evening cold enough to snow
In the fading twilight a silver backed crow
It's voice carrying in the frosty winds that from the Boggeraghs blow
Is cawing on a naked birch tree near where the Araglen flow

On through the darkening fields of Cullen it babbles it's way
In a voice never silent by night and by day
Near the shamrock bridge it flows into the Blackwater and into a bigger waterway grow
How old are the rivers would anyone know?

In quiet old Duhallow as darkness cloaks the sky
The unmistakeable wildness in a vixen's cry
Out hunting or perhaps calling for a mate
On her breeding season she needs to copulate

Rats and mice under cover disappear
When the distinctive scream of a barn owl they do hear
The usually silent hunter of the night
It's hearing so good to detect and kill prey it does not need light

A chill wind from the Boggeraghs tell rain may be near
In a Duhallow twilight on a cold and wet time of year
And on a naked birch tree a silver backed crow
Is cawing near where Araglen to the Blackwater flow.

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