The Fields Of Lisnaboy

The migrant redwing thrushes from the bare hedgerows fly And the dark rain clouds of February go slowly drifting by And the lark today is silent he doesn't carol in the sky High up there in the cloud world o'er the fields of Lisnaboy. But I recall the Summer the bright days in July When in the sunlit meadow we tossed the hay to dry And the robin he was singing on the leafy hedge nearby And the little lark was carolling o'er the fields of Lisnaboy. The migrant redwing thrushes they fly North for the Spring And in their northern Homeland they build their nests and sing And in their native woodlands for food their nestlings cry Far from their wintering hedgerows in the fields of Lisnaboy I learnt much from Nature and in May the leafy trees Smelt fragrant in their blossoms and the wild born honey bees Were busy gathering nectar from the flowers by the hedgerow In the fields of old Duhallow far away and long ago. The years go by so quickly and the Seasons come and go And the wildflowers bloom from late March on when the grass growing breezes blow And the swallows are back home again and they twitter as they fly O'er the fields and groves and hedgerows of green old Lisnaboy