• Michael Mullins
  • Michael "The Bard" Mullin
  • "The Bard of Foremass"
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    A Field of Beauty

    I found a  field of  beauty on a mountain –
    One lone green field, ‘mid wastes of heather brown;
    And long-beaked curlews, pert and pretty peewits
    Went strutting up and down.

    The sun was beaming down upon the green grass,
    And on a host of daisies smiling up,
    And on a wealth of dandelion blossoms,
    And many a buttercup.

    The cooling  bog-breeze passing o’er these beauties
    Set them a-nodding gently to and fro;
    They all seemed waltzing to some fairy music,
    Mysterious and low.

    The lark seemed loth to leave this field of beauty,
    It took, indeed, its giddy upward track –
    But soon the glory of the heav’n below it
    Compelled it to come back.

    Days passed.  I sought again this field of beauty;
    But all the dandelion blooms were gone;
    And lonely looked the buttercups and daisies
    That still kept smiling on.

    The bloom has gone – it saddened me to think it –
    The fairest flowers may bow to Fate’s decree.
    The  bloom has gone – but Beauty’s memory lingers
    Within the soul of me.

    Michael Mullin

    ‘The Bard of Foremass’

    Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross, Co. Tyrone.