I Must Be Getting Older

The chill of Winter in my bones these last few days seem colder Though maybe there's a lesson here that I must be getting older And I've less bearing to the cold for I can well remember That I did not feel the cold as much in Ireland in December. And of course it is much colder there when northern winds are blowing And the river through the windswept fields is often bank high flowing And storms howl in the leafless trees and hedgerows bared by weather And Hereford steers hunched in the cypress grove and they as tough as leather. And to myself I have to smile when I hear some complaining Of how the weather has been cold of late and how heavy it's been raining Where I once lived a day like today would not be seen as unpleasant Though howling gale and lashing rain drown the voice of cucking pheasant. In the Arctic where the Eskimos live in a Land of snow blizzards and storm To them this weather would seem mild in fact they'd say 'tis warm In temperatures of minus forty they hunt and fish and of frostbite they don't suffer The hardiest race on Planet Earth and you won't find any tougher. The chill of Winter in my bones I must be getting older For I come from a northern Land where it is far wetter and colder Where river often in brown flood through bare fields bank high flowing And mountains wear their hats of snow when winter gales are blowing.