Duhallow In Mid January

The Boggeragh mountains old as time wear their winter hats of snow And through quiet lands of Duhallow the old Blackwater flow The leafless grove bereft of birdsong and bare looking the hedgerow And from the cold north countries the icy cold winds blow. In cowshed in the farmyard the cows are bellowing for hay Their appetites much keener on a frosty winter's day And farmer feeling worried his cow fodder supply low And two months yet or maybe more till grass commence to grow. In bare fields the migrant redwings they chirp but never sing They sing their songs in their northern homes in mountain woods in Spring And robins, thrushes and blackbirds by the back door compete For after dinner scraps thrown out by housewife, bread crumbs and morsels of meat. I could tell of Springtime in Duhallow from early april on The nesting birds are singing and winter's coldness gone And grass growth near it's peak time and frogs croak in the drain The memory of such beauty a whole lifetime remain. But it's Duhallow in mid january that I speak of today When Boggeragh peaks are snow capped and frosty fields are gray And rook with feathers fluffed against the cold caws on bare elm bough For cold winter of snow, hail and storm is in Duhallow now. Through the bare fields of Duhallow Blackwater flow bank high And the sun can't seem to penetrate through the heavily clouded sky And the migrant redwing thrushes they chirp but never sing And ten long weeks or maybe more before the blooms of spring.