By Mushera

In the bleakness of November in weather windy, wet, cold and gray Perhaps young men fell pine trees by Mushera today Gray fog cloaking the foothills gives warning of rain And brown stormwater fast flowing in every mountain drain November in Mushera is a bleak time of year Where the songs of the birds one cannot expect for to hear Where the mornings are cold close to zero degrees And the cold breath of winter is in the northerly breeze Without their leaves the deciduous trees do look bare And in a high field the shy tawny hare With little toeat for it on the mountain at all Has moved to the lower ground in the latter Fall From the first breath of Spring many a cold night and day In the farmyard sheds by Mushera cattle bellowing for silage or hay Sparrows by every backdoor eating crumbs of swept out bread Many a cold and wet wintery day of them ahead Until leaves bud on the deciduous trees and nesting songbirds chirp and sing And the swallows return to Mushera in mid Spring And out of wintering sheds from months of eating silage and hay Cattle on nutritious young grass are gaining weight by the day.