Every Time I Visualize

I am from the place of the silver back crow Where Finnow from Gneeves to the Blackwater flow But in my visualizations distance disappear And in fancy the song of the curlew i hear Above Matty Owens bog in the twilight gray In the calm of the evening in the prime of the May A voice from the past that is with me today Old memories die hard as some are known to say As the shades of darkness envelope the late evening sky Above the rushy fields the male snipe does fly And all through the night whilst he is flying around With his wings and his tail he makes a goat like sound From me old fields not distant i have come to realize I walk in them every time i visualize.