March By The

Behind the gray clouds the sun is hidden away Where the old Finnow River is babbling today In the flat damp fields where the rushes do grow In the home of the rook and the silver backed crow Far north of here even as the migratory birds do fly Close to if not more than twenty thousand kilometers of sky No cattle out of wintering sheds yet in the fields where the waterways meet In the old countryside near the Town of Millstreet A cool weather temperature high for the day of seven degrees With a drizzling rain in the strengthening breeze That blow from the hills shrouded in the fogs of rain And brown storm water flowing in every field drain In mid March a little too early yet for birds to nest and sing Though leaf buds on the deciduous trees tell of the approaching Spring.