In Mushera

When the mountain is cloaked in the gray fogs of rain I will never fell timber by Mushera again With the cool winds of April blowing across the gray sky I only have memories of days long gone by In showery though pleasant weather of fifteen to twenty degrees The nesting wood pigeons cooing on the pine trees And robins and thrushes, finches and blackbirds have their songs to sing In Mushera wood near the prime of the Spring In my memory time it does seem to stand still The dark faced horned ewes with their lambs in the fields by the hill Their bleating have followed me from far away I fancy that i am in Mushera today April in Mushera it can be a nice time of year The lark above the mountain in memory i hear Cloaked in the gray clouds he sing as upwards he does fly His mate on her eggs in a ground nest nearby Rain water flowing brown in every drain Of April in Mushera the memories with me remain I felled pine trees there many Seasons ago Before time that rusts iron did become my foe.