A Spring Night In Duhallow

Like small motor bike purring it's way along Across the sky the nightjar's churring song The bird known as 'the swallow of the night' With mouth agape enjoying his flying insect diet. And o'er the bog the male snipe flies around And with his wings and tail he makes the strangest sound And all of the time as around and round he fly Sounds like a goat is bleating in the sky. The moonlit fields of old Duhallow quiet And barn owl silent hunter of the night In soundless wings above the meadow fly For him to live small creature has to die. The hungry vixen barking on the hill Her voice that carry distance wild and shrill Her fast growing cubs are playing outside their den Cloaked by the gorse in remote furzy glen. Old brock the badger ponderous and slow Snuff for worms and beetles by hedgerow Before he start his search for food each night He lines his sett with fresh grass at twilight. With water to his knees in upland rill The fishing heron standing statue still And in any case his patience is repaid When small trout swim out towards him from the shade. The long eared owl a nocturnal bird of prey Is only seldom seen in light of day The country person know him by his cry Is hooting somewhere in the woods nearby. And mother birds are sleeping in their nest With eggs or young kept warm beneath their breast And stars above the bogland twinkling bright And the moonlit fields of old Duhallow quiet.